Yon stately tomb that seeks the sky,
Erected to the glorious dead,
Through whose high arches sweeps, the sigh
The night winds heave when day has fled;
2.
How fair its pillared stories rise
'Gainst yon blue firmament so pure;
Fair as they met admiring eyes,
Long ages past, they still endure.
3.
Yes, many a race hath left the earth
Since first this Mausoleum rose;
So many, that the name, or birth,
Of dead, or founder, no one knows.
4.
The sculptured pictures, all may see,
Were by a skilful artist wrought;
But, Time! the secret rests with thee,
Which to unravel men have sought.
5.
Of whom were they, the honoured dead,
Whose mem'ry Love would here record?
Lift up the veil, so long o'erspread,
And tell whose dust yon fane doth guard.
6.