Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
A fav'rite has no friend!
Rich with the spoils of time.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.