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 Hadst thou a genius on thy peak, 
What tales, white-headed Ben, 
Could'st thou of ancient ages speak, 
That mock th' historian's pen! 

Thy long duration makes our livea 
Seem but so many hours; 
And likens, to the bees' frail hives, 
Our most stupendous towers.
Temples and towers thou seest begun, New creeds, new conquerers sway; And, like their shadows in the sun, Hast seen them swept away.
Thy steadfast summit, heaven-allied (Unlike life's little span), Looks down a mentor on the pride Of perishable man.

by Thomas Campbell
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