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Poem	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.
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