E'en From The Tomb The Voice Of

The Hues Of Bliss More Brightly Glow, Chastis'd By Sabler Tints Of Woe.

Can Storied Urn, Or Animated Bust Back To Its Mansion Call The Fleeting Breath? Can Honour's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flatt'ry Soothe The Dull Cold Ear Of Death?

Ah, Tell Them They Are Men!

Alas, Regardless Of Their Doom, The Little Victims Play! No Sense Have They Of Ills To Come Nor Care Beyond Today.

Thought Would Destroy Their Paradise.