Of power,—and their own weakness hide;

But death shall find unlooked-for ways

To end the farce of pride.

Death levels all things, in his march

Nought can resist his mighty strength;

The palace proud,—triumphal arch,

Shall mete their shadow’s length:

The rich, the poor, one common bed

Shall find, in the unhonoured grave,

Where weeds shall crown alike the head