The Night hath closed on Helle's stream,

Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill

That Moon, which shone on his high theme:

No warrior chides her peaceful beam,

But conscious shepherds bless it still.

Their flocks are grazing on the Mound

Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow:

That mighty heap of gathered ground

Which Ammon's son ran proudly round,[154]

By nations raised, by monarchs crowned, 530

Is now a lone and nameless barrow!

Within—thy dwelling-place how narrow![155]

Without—can only strangers breathe

The name of him that was beneath:

Dust long outlasts the storied stone;

But Thou—thy very dust is gone!