With its proud quantum of the ariel-moss,[6]
Still higher hath intent;
But stay—this is thy sphere.
Beneath that sacred edifice, so grand,
There rests the dust of men—
Brave warriors, statesmen, and that skilful hand
Which wrought the fabric—Wren.
Ah! ’tis a solemn sight.
The evening breezes bade the mist begone
From off this monument,