Is he of noble birth; of rank or fame?
Was he as great as any whom we see
Around, who worked to make themselves a name?
Surely he is a prince, nay, e’en a king?
For see the waiting thousands gathered here;
And hear the streets of ancient London ring
To the slow tramp of men who guard his bier!
And, surely, ’tis the King himself who comes
As chiefest mourner on this solemn day,
And these who walk behind him are his sons—