The sacred keep of Ilion is rent
With shaft and pit; vague waters wander slow
Through plains where Simois and Scamander went
To war with gods and heroes long ago:
Not yet to dark Ca**andra, lying low
In rich Mycenæ, do the Fates relent;
The bones of Agamemnon are a show,
And ruined is his royal monument.
The awful dust and treasures of the Dead
Has Learning scattered wide; but vainly thee,
Homer, she measures with her Lesbian lead,
And strives to rend thy songs: too blind is she
To know the crown on thine immortal head
Of indivisible supremacy.