The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good,
Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills,
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods, rivers, that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks,
That make the meadows green, and, poured round all,
Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all