The oracles are dumb,

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance or breathed spell

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

John Milton (1608-1674): Hymn on Christ's Nativity. Line 173.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine,

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

They sought a faith's pure shrine.

John Keble (1792-1866): Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

Shrine of the mighty! can it be

That this is all remains of thee?

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Giaour. Line 106.

Philips, whose touch harmonious could remove

The pangs of guilty power and hapless love!

Rest here, distressed by poverty no more;

Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before;

Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine,

Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): Epitaph on Claudius Philips, the Musician.