Mycenae isn't what it once was
Greek Anthology 9.28: Though I, Mycenae, am but a heap of dust here in the desert, though I am meaner to look at than any chance rock, he who gazes on the famous city of Ilion, whose walls I trod underfoot and emptied all the house of Priam, shall know thence how mighty I was of old. If my old age has used me ill, the testimony of Homer is enough for me.
Greek Anthology 9.101: Few are the birth-places of the heroes that are still to be seen, and those yet left are not much higher than the soil. So, as I passed thee by, did I recognise thee, unhappy Mycenae, more waste than any goat-fold. The herds still point thee out, and it was an old man who said to me, "Here stood once the city, rich in gold, that the Cyclopes built."
Greek Anthology 9.102: I, who was once the acropolis of Perseus in aerial flight, I who nourished the cruel star to the sons of Ilos, here I am abandoned, a solitude where goats graze, for I have paid a late ransom to the gods of Priam.
Greek Anthology 9.103: I, who was once an opulent city, who received the house of the Atreides from a heavenly race, who ravaged Troy founded by the gods, who was once the unshakeable kingdom of the Hellenic demigods, here I am, laid low, pasture for sheep and oxen, I, Mycenae, and of all my greatness, only a name remains. Ilion, ah! You were dear to Nemesis, for Mycenae has disappeared, but you still exist and are a city.
