Those leaves are long since fled
Which last adorn’d his stately limbs,
And crown’d his tow’ring head:—
O! could we sing of “glory still
Encircling his old frame;”
But no!—the only thing survives
Is his proud ancient name.
Those leaves are long since fled
Which last adorn’d his stately limbs,
And crown’d his tow’ring head:—
O! could we sing of “glory still
Encircling his old frame;”
But no!—the only thing survives
Is his proud ancient name.