Ages time no longer numbers,

Forms that share oblivion's slumbers,

Creatures of that elder world

Now in dust and darkness hurled,

Crushed beneath the heavy rod

Of a long forsaken God!

Hark! what spirit moves the crowd?

Like the voice of waters loud,

[Pg 38]

Through the open city gate,

Urged by wonder, fear, or hate,

Onward rolls the mighty tide—

Spreads the tumult far and wide.

Heedless of the noontide glare,

Infancy and age are there,—

Joyous youth and matron staid,

Blooming bride and blushing maid,—

Manhood with his fiery glance,

War-chief with his lifted lance,—

Beauty with her jewelled brow,

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