Plain men have fitful moods and so have Kings, For Kings are only men, and often made Of clay as common as e'er stained a spade. But when the great are moody, then, the strings...
O'er town, and works, and waves amain Far fell grim Ruin's furious rain, O'er parapet and mast, And riding on the thunder-swell Far flew the shot, far flew the shell Red Havoc on the blast!...
At Plymouth Rock a handful of brave souls, Full-armed in faith, erected home and shrine, And flourished where the wild Atlantic rolls Its pyramids of brine.
Alas! he's cold! Cold as the marble which his fingers wrought - Cold, but not dead; for each embodied thought Of his, which he from the Ideal brought To live in stone, Assures him immortality of fame....