The Great and the Proud—
Each a God, as you see by their glorious eyes!
’Tis a terrible throng!—
And Thought from her Pyramid splendidly bows
And sits like a glory-wreathed crown on their brows,—
As they thunder along.
Hurry on! Hurry on!—ye have not lived in vain
As we see by each radiant head!—
Oh, minstrel still utter that sonorous strain—
’Tis the march of the mighty—the Dead!