Though kings lead armies o’er us—we shall sleep,
Wrapt in earth’s covering mantle! You the while
Shall sit within your vast forsaken halls,
And hear the wild and melancholy winds
Moan through their drooping banners, never more
To wave above your race. Ay, then call up
Shadows—dim phantoms from ancestral tombs,
But all, all—glorious,—conquerors, chieftains, kings,
To people that cold void! And when the strength
From your right arm hath melted, when the blast