Yet vainly now, we look around to find
Thy early beauty mid this dreary waste;
Unmourned, unmissed, thus in thy fallen state,
Thou art an emblem of the common fate!
Before the stern destroyer all shall bow,
And sweet Burnside, like thine, ’twill be my lot
To lie a ruin, tenantless and low,
By friends unmentioned, and by foes forgot:
As earth’s uncounted millions I shall be—
No mortal think, no record speak of me!