Calm is his aspect, and his eye
Now fix’d upon the deep blue sky,
Now on those wrecks of ages fled
Around in desolation spread—
Arch, temple, column, worn and gray,
Recording triumphs pass’d away;
Works of the mighty and the free,
Whose steps on earth no more shall be,
Though their bright course hath left a trace
Nor years nor sorrows can efface.