XXXI.

There, while around lie mingling in the dust The column’s graceful shaft, with weeds o’er grown, The mouldering torso, the forgotten bust. The warrior’s urn, the altar’s mossy stone-- Amidst the loneliness of shatter’d fanes, Still matchless monuments of other years-- O’er cypress groves or solitary plains, Its eastern form the minaret proudly rears: As on some captive city’s ruin’d wall The victor’s banner waves, exulting o’er its fall.