Of youth, array’d so richly for the tomb,
Nor feel, deep swelling in his inmost soul,
Emotions tyranny may ne’er control?
Bright victim! to Ambition’s altar led,
Crown’d with all flowers that heaven on earth can shed,
Who, from th’ oppressor towering in his pride,
May hope for mercy—if to thee denied?
There is dead silence on the breathless throng,
Dead silence all the peopled shore along,
As on the captive moves—the only sound,