Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Asia: Vols. XXI–XXIII. 1876–79. | | | | Syria: Tyre (Soor) | | Tyre | | Nicholas Michell (1807–1880) |
| | (From Ruins of Many Lands)
AND this is Tyre,—the mighty mart of old, | |
| City of merchants! conquering kings with gold! | |
| Through whose long streets that knew no dull repose, | |
| Like stormy waves, the voice of Commerce rose, | |
| While palaces, each worthy Ocean’s queen, | 5 |
| O’erlooked in dazzling pride the busy scene. | |
| Here Afric brought her ivory and rich plumes, | |
| Ophir her gems, Arabia her perfumes; | |
| The adventurous Tyrian sent his daring sail, | |
| Where’er might roll the waves or sweep the gale; * * * * * | 10 |
| Strange that to power no state or people grew, | |
| From age to age their glory to renew; | |
| But like the sun they gain meridian height, | |
| Blaze their appointed time, then sink in night; * * * * * | |
| And so Tyre fell,—her riches could not save; | 15 |
| The city of the proud is now a grave, | |
| Swept, like her daughter Carthage, by the wings | |
| Of ages, from the list of living things. | |
| And so Tyre fell,—where rose her granite towers, | |
| And shone her palaced streets, and jewelled bowers, | 20 |
| The goatherd heedless roves, nor asks her name, | |
| Nor recks her glories past and ancient fame. | |
| He sees bowed arch, an aqueduct, and well, | |
| But who their builders were he cannot tell. | |
| The wave, unsympathizing, beats the strand, | 25 |
| Moss clothes black fragments buried deep in sand, | |
| And sea-birds, stooping in their ocean flight, | |
| Pass with wild shrieks the vanished city’s site. | | | | |
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