Where my high steeples whilom used to stand,
On which the lordly falcon wont to tower,
There now is but an heap of lime and sand,
For the screech-owl to build her baleful bower.
SPENSER: _Ruins of Time,_ Line 127.
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below.
CAMPBELL: _Pl. of Hope,_ Pt. i., Line 385.
The day shall come, that great avenging day
Which Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay,
When Priam's powers and Priam's self shall fall,
And one prodigious ruin swallow all.
POPE: _Iliad,_ Bk. iv., Line 196.