A huge and mouldering mausoleum stands.
These words are graved upon its portals gray,—
The Singer of the Nibelungen Lay.
INVOCATION.
O, placid Death! O, lotos-circled king!
Parent of rest and endless slumbering!
With downy-sandalled pace approach me now,
And bathe my lips and palpitating brow
From flagons full of cool Lethean spray,