Is like the marble which of old
Breathed its wild dirge o’er Memnon’s tomb;
To give the statue voice and might,
From the pure day-god’s eye of light
One beam must pierce the gloom.
Thou wouldst that rousing in my breast
The fires that ’neath their ashes lie,
I barter now my spirit’s rest
For tones that vanish with a sigh.
Ah! glory is a shadow’s dream!