Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there falls,
Huge heaps of hoary molder’d walls.
Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow—
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state;
But transient is the smile of Fate!
A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter’s day,