England and America

Soon fleets the sunbright form, by man adored! —
Soon fell the head of gold to Time a prey,
The arms, the trunk, his cankering tooth devour'd,
And whirlwinds blew the iron dust away.
Where dwelt imperial Timur, far astray
Some lonely-musing pilgrim now inquires;
And, rack'd by storms and hastening to decay,
Mohammed's mosque foresees its final fires,
And Rome's more lordly temple day by day expires.
As o'er proud Asian realms the traveller winds,
His manly spirit, hush'd by terror, falls
When some forgotten town's lost site he finds;
Where ruin wild his pondering eye appals,
Where silence swims along the moulder'd walls,
And broods upon departed Grandeur's tomb,
Through the lone, hollow aisles, sad Echo calls
At each slow step; deep sighs the breathing gloom,
And weeping fields around bewail their enmress' doom.
Where o'er a hundred realms the throne uprose
The screech-owl nests, the panther builds his home;
Sleep the dull newts, the lazy adders doze
Where pomp and luxury danced the golden room;
Low lies in dust the sky-resembled dome,
'Tall grass around the broken column waves,
And brambles climb and lonely thistles bloom;
The moulder'd arch the weedy streamlet laves,
And low resound, beneath, unnumber'd sunken graves.
In thee, O Albion! queen of nations, live
Whatever splendours earth's wide realms have known;
In thee proud Persia sees her pomp revive,
And Greece her arts, and Rome her lordly throne;
By every wind thy Tyrian fleets are blown;
Supreme, on Fame's dread roll, thy heroes stand;
All ocean's realms thy naval sceptre own;
Of bards, of sages, how august thy band!
.And one rich Eden blooms around thy garden'd land.
But, O how vast thy crimes! Through Heaven's great year,
When few centurial suns have traced their way;
When Southern Europe, worn by feuds severe,
Weak, doting, fallen, has bow'd to Russian sway,
And setting Glory beam'd her farewell ray,
To wastes, perchance, thy brilliant fields shall turn;
In dust thy temples, towers, and towns decay;
The forest howl where London turrets burn,
.And all thy garlands deck thy sad funereal urn.
Some land, scarce glimmering in the light of fame,
Scepter' d with arts and arms, (if I divine,)
Some unknown wild, some shore without a name,
In all thy pomp shall then majestic shine.
As silver-headed Time's slow years decline,
Not ruins only meet the inquiring eye;
Where round yon mouldering oak vain brambles twine,
The filial stem, already towering high,
Ere long shall stretch his arms, and nod in yonder sky.