The veil is dropt!—and afar is hail’d,
With wild huzzas and hands that fly,
The form of the man that stands on high.
II.
How the crowd are cheering! but, ah, their cheer
Recalls a day
When few were here;
And the most of them daintily shrank away,
Afraid a foot or a frill to smear
In the mire of this place, while deep in the clay