With power, or wisdom, or the gift of song.
These still are common ruins—the remains
Of those who were the vulgar of their day,
Who battled, built, and traded, and so died,
Leaving no trace but nameless monuments,
The cast attire of ages, which but serve
To show the present how the past went mad,
And, like Cassandra, prophesy in vain.
The earth yet bears more glorious vestiges
Of Time’s illustrious few, whose memory