Thus pass the glories of the world!
He lies beneath the pall’s white folds:
His sword is sheathed, his pennon furled,
Him silence holds.
The sea coast of Bohemia
Is pleasant to the view
When singing larks spring from the grass
To fade into the blue,
AS I rode in the early dawn,
While stars were fading white,
I saw upon a grassy slope
A camp-fire burning bright;