May still survive the wearers—and the rose
Perchance may scarce be wither’d, when the tomb
Receives the mighty to its dark repose!
The day must dawn on battle, and may set
In death—but fill the mantling wine-cup high!
Despair is fearless, and the Fates e’en yet
Lend her one hour for parting revelry.
They who the empire of the world possess’d
Would taste its joys again, ere all exchanged for rest.
Its joys! oh, mark yon proud Triumvir’s mien,