So well had the embalmers done their part

With spice and precious unguents, to imbue

The perfect corpse, that each had still the hue

Of living man, and every limb was still

Supple and firm and full, as when of yore

Its motion answered to the moving will.

The robes of royalty which once they wore,

Long since had mouldered off and left them bare:

Naked upon their thrones behold them there,

Statues of actual flesh, . . a fearful sight!

Their large and rayless eyes

Dimly reflecting to that gem-born light,

Glaz’d, fix’d, and meaningless, . . . yet, open wide,

Their ghastly balls belied

The mockery of life in all beside.