They fried in the sun, and died.
UNVEILING THE MONUMENT.
I.
The monument stands, no longer the care
Of mallet and chisel and plummet and square.
With a flourish of trumpets and rolling of drums
The glad hour comes
When the statue above it will loom unveil’d.
Lo, now the crowds that are under it sway;
The bugles are sounding; and look!—away