King Julius left the south country,
His banners all bravely flying;
His followers went out with Jubilee,
But they shall return with sighing.
Loud arose the triumphal hymn,
The drums were loudly rolling;
Yet you might have heard in distant din
How a passing bell was tolling.
The sward so bright from battles won,
With unseen rust is fretting;
The evening comes before the noon,
The scarce risen sun is setting.
While princes hang upon his breath
And nations round are fearing,
Close by his side a daggered death
With sheathless point stands sneering.
That Death he took a certain aim,
For Death is stony-hearted;
And in the zenith of his fame
Both power and life departed.
April 20, 1839.