Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o’erthrown;
And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire,
To beacon home from Tarshish, the lordly ships of Tyre.”
“Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely mart?
The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian art;
The silken goats of Kedar; Sabæa’s spicy store;
The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward bore,
When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the sea
With sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery.”
“Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still laments