Page:Tales and Historic Scenes.pdf/163

Rh

But his—her lord from Alp to sea No common sepulchre shall be! Oh, make his tomb where mortal eye Its buried wealth may ne'er descry! Where mortal foot may never tread Above a victor-monarch's bed. Let not his royal dust be hid 'Neath star-aspiring pyramid; Nor bid the gather'd mound arise, To bear his memory to the skies. Years roll away—oblivion claims Her triumph o'er heroic names; And hands profane disturb the clay That once was fired with glory's ray; And Avarice, from their secret gloom, Drags e'en the treasures of the tomb. But thou, O leader of the free! That general doom awaits not thee! Thou, where no step may e'er intrude, Shalt rest in regal solitude, Till, bursting on thy sleep profound, Th' Awakener's final trumpet sound.