LXIII.

But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan,

There is a spot should not be passed in vain,—

Morat! the proud, the patriot field! where man

May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain,

Nor blush for those who conquered on that plain;

Here Burgundy bequeathed his tombless host,

A bony heap, through ages to remain,

Themselves their monument;[312]—the Stygian coast

Unsepulchred they roamed, and shrieked each wandering ghost. [ix] [313] [13.B.]

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