XC.

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow--[fz][196] The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear; Mountains above--Earth's, Ocean's plain below-- Death in the front, Destruction in the rear! Such was the scene--what now remaineth here? What sacred Trophy marks the hallowed ground, Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear?[ga] The rifled urn, the violated mound,[197] The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns around.