"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, ere gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave!"
GRAY.
Rest Soldier! not the trumpet's peal,
Can break the hallow'd silence here;
For ling'ring footsteps only steal,
To weep the mourner's bitter tear.
Sad trophied "city of the dead!"