Whose gorgeous fabrics seemed to strike the skies;
Whom, though by tyrant victors oft subdued,
Greece, Egypt, Rome, with admiration viewed:
Her name, for architecture long renown’d,
Spread like the foliage which her pillars crowned;
But now, in fatal desolation laid,
Oblivion o’er it draws a dismal shade.
Then further westward, on Morea’s land,
Fair Misitra! thy modern turrets stand:
Ah! who, unmoved with secret woe, can tell