Petrocchi

Translated by James Glassford, of Dougalston

I CALL on Time, who batters down that high

And spacious pile, to say from whence it rose:—

No answer he vouchsafes, but onward goes,

And spreads his pinions broader to the sky.

Fame I invoke, O thou, who lettest die

Things only of no worth, tell what are those!

Troubled and sad her eye she downward throws,

Like one oppressed who pours the deep-drawn sigh.

Then ruminating slow I turn aside;

When on the ruined mass, with haughty brow,

From stone to stone I see Oblivion stride:—

Perchance, I said, thou knowest when or how!

But he in low and horrid thunder cried,

I care not whose it was, mine it is now.