Upon a grand funeral pyre, or lie
Mummies, stifled, frozen, alternately,
On polished slabs of marble, or be hid,
Crushed beneath a mountainous pyramid!
You grieve: “No more will echoes of your feet
Reach home; no wife and children run to greet
Your glad return, and vie for the first kiss,
Flooding a heart, too full for speech, with bliss;
No more for dear ones will you watch and store;
Be their armour, and citadel no more;—