Alexander Pope

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, read more

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!

Who would not praise Patrico's high desert,
His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart,
His comprehensive head? all read more

Who would not praise Patrico's high desert,
His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart,
His comprehensive head? all interests weigh'd,
All Europe sav'd, yet Britain not betray'd.

In cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

In cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

Where round some mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.

Where round some mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.

Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix,
Of crooked counsels and dark politics.

Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix,
Of crooked counsels and dark politics.