I love to hear the names of those Who long ago have past away,
1
Though now their names be drowned by clay.
b
And who would stand where they repose, And look upon their dust, and say
That this was Trajan, and below This foot of mine, lies cold and low, Earth, which compounded long ago What held the soul of Cæsar. How peaceful is the turbulence
Of spirits, whose high deeds long hence Shall still be told as now! How strange those mighty powers that hurled With change and terror oʼer the world Should pass away, we know not how!
That one would wonder how a thing So temporary, perishing, Should dare such deeds, or work such change Iʼ the texture of the world. There have been many mighty,