Tajin

In Tajin's woods where wanderers rare intrude,
A hunter train the wild red deer pursued;
With hound, and echoing tube, they onward press,
But start to see a form of loveliness;
Above the forest, flame-like, springs in air
A graceful tower, like some bright vision there;
From rich-carved base to apex-stone they trace
Egypt's vast strength, and Graecia's matchless grace;
Huge blocks, that well might task man's power and skill
To move their bulk, on blocks ascending still!
The pensile flower from every crevice peeps,
Up its fair sides the pale gray lichen creeps.
Some faun or wood-nymph, hovering round the spot,
Hath surely watched this pile, by man forgot,
And, through revolving ages, charmed away
The scythe of Time, the spectre of Decay.