Lo! ’t is a gala night
  Within the lonesome latter years.
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
  In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre to see
  A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
  The music of the...

Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies,
  And yet the monument proclaims it not,
Nor round the sleeper’s name hath chisel wrought
  The emblems of a fame that never dies,
Ivy and amaranth in a graceful sheaf,
Twined with the laurel’s fair, imperial leaf...