Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath,
   Are domes where whilom kings did make repair;
   But now the wild flowers round them only breathe: 
   Yet ruined splendour still is lingering there. 
   And yonder towers the prince’s palace fair: 
   There thou, too, Vathek!  England’s wealthiest son,
   Once formed thy Paradise, as not aware
   When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done,
Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun.