XCVIII.

“After life’s fitful fever thou sleep’st well!” We may not mourn thee! Sceptred chiefs, from whom The earth received her destiny, and fell Before them trembling--to a sterner doom Have oft been call’d. For them the dungeon’s gloom, With its cold starless midnight, hath been made More fearful darkness, where, as in a tomb, Without a tomb’s repose, the chain hath weigh’d Their very soul to dust, with each high power decay’d.