Behind rises the mighty sepulchre, on the building of which repose to the dead the lives of thousands had been consumed.

There sit in a semicircle the solemn judges.

Black and sluggish flows the lake.

There lies the mummied and royal dead.

Dost thou quail at the frown on his lifelike brow?
Ha!--bravely done, O artist!--up rise the haggard forms!--pale speak the ghastly faces! Shall not Humanity after death avenge itself on Power?
Thy conception, Clarence Glyndon, is a sublime truth; thy design promises renown to genius.