Have a proud city of their own,
With shrines and pyramids o'erspread—
Where many an ancient, kingly head
Slumbers, immortalized in stone;
And where, through marble grots beneath,
The lifeless, ranged like sacred things,
Nor wanting aught of life, but breath,
Lie in their painted loveliness,
And in each new successive race,
That visit their dim haunts below,