The stranger, wond’ring, stalks, and stares upon
Rome’s antique glories, in her ruins seen;
He sees high arches, huge shining heaps of stone,
Maim’d, mutil’d, murder’d, by years’ wasteful teen:
He sees a rugged, ragged, rocky quarr
Hang in the air, with ivy laced about.
O! what can last, alas! (then cries he out)
Sith Time hath conquer’d the world’s conqueror?