By a lone wall a lonelier column rears

A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days;

'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years,

And looks as with the wild-bewildered gaze

Of one to stone converted by amaze,

Yet still with consciousness; and there it stands

Making a marvel that it not decays,

When the coeval pride of human hands,

Levelled Aventicum, [14.B.] hath strewed her subject lands.