It stands as monument instead,
Unto each long-forgotten race,

12.

Who came, like me, to gaze and brood
Upon it in this lonely spot--
Their minds with pensive thoughts imbued,
That Heroes could be thus forgot.

13.

Yet still the wind a requiem sighs,
And the blue sky above it weeps;
Thu Sun pours down its radiant dyes,
Though none can tell who 'neath it sleeps.

14.

And seasons roll, and centuries pass,
And still unchanged thou keep'st thy place;
While we, like shadows in a glass,
Soon glide away, and leave no trace.

15.

And yon proud Arch, the Victor's meed,
Is nameless as the neighbouring Tomb:
Victor, and Dead, the Fates decreed
Your memory to oblivion's gloom.