Euphrenia or the Test of Love | ||
XLVII.
Now in an ivy-mantled tower,Whose ruined walls attest
The march of that relentless foe
Whose labours know no rest;
A ruined hearth proclaims the spot
Where erst a noble sat,
And entertained a haughty queen
In all the pride of state:
So mighty then, so lowly now,
No sermon can convey
More wholesome moral than the thought
Of grandeur passed away.
Euphrenia or the Test of Love | ||