Читать книгу Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (With Byron's Biography) - Lord Byron - Страница 154

Son of the Morning, rise! approach you here!

Come—but molest not yon defenceless Urn:

Look on this spot—a Nation's sepulchre!

Abode of Gods, whose shrines no longer burn.dr Even Gods must yield—Religions take their turn: 'Twas Jove's—'tis Mahomet's—and other Creeds Will rise with other years, till Man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds; Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds.ds