V. Changes in the Temple

The cry is at thy gates, long-lovèd ground, Again: for oft ere now thy children went Beggared and wroth, and parting greeting sent Some old red alley with a dial crowned; Some house of honour, in a glory bound With lives and deaths of spirits excellent; Some tree rude-taken from his kingly tent Hard by a little fountain's friendly sound. Oh, for Virginius' hand, if only that Maintain the whole, and spoil these spoilings soon! Better the scowling Strand should lose, alas, Her walled oasis, and where once it was All mournful in the cleared quadrangle sat Echo and ivy, and the loitering moon.