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.