For there the chiefs of other days,
The mighty, slumber’d, with their praise:
’Twas long since aught but the dews of heaven
A tribute to their bier had given,
Long since a sound but the moaning blast
Above their voiceless home had pass’d.
—So slept the proud, and with them all
The records of their fame and fall;
Helmet and shield, and sculptured crest,
Adorn’d the dwelling of their rest,