Stricken with awe, we gaze upon those monuments to fame,
And ask, but ask unanswered, for the mighty builder’s name!
The countless tumuli outspread upon our western lands,
Who piled their shapeless forms, and why? Where are the busy hands
Which ages since heaped high those mounds? Alas! we ne’er can know;
Their names were blotted out from life long centuries ago.
And must I be forgotten thus? When earth sees me no more
Will all this working world plod on as calmly as before?
Will no sweet memory of me cling round some constant heart?
Must all remembrance of my life from every soul depart?