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Strange that to power no state or people grew,
And so Tyre fell,
her riches could not save; The city of the proud is now a grave, Swept, like her daughter Carthage, by the wings of ages, from the list of living things. And so Tyre fell, where rose her granite towers, And shone her palaced streets, and jewelled bowers, The goatherd heedless roves, nor asks her name, Nor recks her glories past and ancient fame. He sees bowed arch, an aqueduct, and well, But who their builders were he cannot tell. The wave, unsympathizing, beats the strand, Moss clothes black fragments buried deep in sand, And sea-birds, stooping in their ocean flight, Pass with wild shrieks the vanished city's site.
did thy ships to earth’s wide bounds proceed,
In that thy day of glory. Carthage rose,
Glittering, the sunny surge; thy mariners,
So wert thou glorious on the seas, and saidst,
William Lisle Bowles.
of Tyre, Beats on the fallen columns and round the headland
And hurls its foamy volume along the hollow shores, And calls with hungry clamor, that speaks its long
desire : “Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships
Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading sand, No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every
land, And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have
blown, Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o’erthrown; And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire, To beacon home from Tarshish the lordly ships of
Where is thy rod of empire, once mighty on the
waves, Thou that thyself cxaltedst, till kings became thy slaves ? Thou that didst speak to nations, and saw thy will
obeyed, Whose favor made them joyful, whose anger sore
afraid, Who laid'st thy deep foundations, and thought them
strong and sure, And boasted midst the waters, Shall I not aye endure ?
Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely
mart? The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian