Classic Poem

Nor long the Trench or lofty Walls oppose;
With Gods averse th'ill-fated Works arose;
Their Pow'rs neglected and no Victim slain,
The Walls were rais'd, the Trenches sunk in vain.
Without the Gods, how short a Period stands
The proudest Monument of mortal Hands!
This stood, while Hector and Achilles rag'd,
While sacred Troy the warring Hosts engag'd;
But when her Sons were slain, her City burn'd,
And what surviv'd of Greece to Greece return'd;
Then Neptune and Apollo shook the Shore,
Then Ida's Summits pour'd their wat'ry Store;
Rhesus and Rhodius then unite their Rills,
Caresus roaring down the stony Hills,
Æsepus, Granicus, with mingled Force,
And Xanthus foaming from his fruitful Source;
And gulphy Simois, rolling to the Main
Helmets, and Shields, and God-like Heroes slain:
These, turn'd by Phœbus from their wonted ways,
Delug'd the Rampire nine continual Days;
The Weight of Waters saps the yielding Wall,
And to the Sea the floating Bulwarks fall.
Incessant Cataracts the Thund'rer pours,
And half the Skies descend in sluicy Show'rs.
The God of Ocean, marching stern before,
With his huge Trident wounds the trembling Shore,
Vast Stones and Piles from their Foundation heaves,
And whelms the smoaky Ruin in the Waves.
Now smooth'd with Sand, and levell'd by the Flood,
No Fragment tells where once the Wonder stood;
In their old Bounds the Rivers roll again,
Shine 'twixt the Hills, or wander o'er the Plain.