That came and flitted round,—
Death, death, and nothing but death,
In every sight and sound!
"And oh! those maidens young,
Who wrought in that dreary room,
With figures drooping and spectres thin,
And cheeks without a bloom;—
And the Voice that cried, 'For the pomp of pride,
We haste to an early tomb!
"'For the pomp and pleasure of Pride,