98
POEMS.
THE FATE OF KINGS.
An Elegy.
[WRITTEN ON VISITING A ROYAL MAUSOLEUM.]
Peace to these aisles, through which I pensive stray,
And press with reverent feet the time-worn stones,
Led by yon glimmering Lamp's sepulchral ray,
Which marks the spot, where rest a Monarch's bones.
And press with reverent feet the time-worn stones,
Led by yon glimmering Lamp's sepulchral ray,
Which marks the spot, where rest a Monarch's bones.
Languid and cold, to light, but not to chear,
Falls the faint gleam upon the tomb below,
Like Pity's voice on some lone widow's ear,
Mocking the majesty of buried Woe!
Falls the faint gleam upon the tomb below,
Like Pity's voice on some lone widow's ear,
Mocking the majesty of buried Woe!
