But in vain
We stand communing with the faithless tomb
That cast thee forth.—The strong-cemented rock
Lays claim to immortality,—but dust
Man's dust, must yield each element a part,
To pay Creation's loan, nor can he cling
To the brief memory of a shadowy race,
Save through his deeds.—
O Woman, nurse of Man!—
Make not thy grave beneath the imposing arch,
Or the drear pyramid;—enshrine thyself
Amid thy buried virtues, in the heart
Of him who loves thee, make thy monument
The graces of thine offspring, and the thanks
Of all who mourn. So shalt thou miss the pomp
Of this world's triumph, and thy noteless tomb
Be glorious in the resurrection morn.
POMPEY'S STATUE,
AT WHOSE PEDESTAL JULIUS CÆSAR FELL, IS STILL PRESERVED
IN THE PALAZZO SPADÆ, AT ROME.
Cold and inanimate!—Would thou couldst ope
Thy marble lips, and tell what thou hadst seen
Upon the ides of March!—thou, at whose feet
Fell the world's monarch, eloquent and brave,
The great in conquest, and the proud of soul.—
Waked there no spark Promethean in thy breast,
When sadly muffled in his mantle's fold
Fainting, he fell on thee?—
