 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere
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VI.
SOPHOCLES.
Alone I wandered through a city lone,
(The tomb august, and monumental state
Of Empire passed away and desolate)
To where, 'mid crumbling frieze, and columns prone.
Down a great Temple-court the shades were thrown
Of seven majestic Statues calm as Fate:
The mouldering altar, like a snowy zone
They girt: I midmost in that circle sate.
One was a King; and regal though uncrowned,
Low-bent he stood, standing as if he slept,
With blinded eyes, and chains his feet around:
Another was a royal Maid, who kept
Her eyes upon an urn funereal pressed
By both her marble hands deep deep into her breast.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere
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