Read it through once

Let us begin and carry up this corpse, Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes, Each in its tether Sleeping safe in the bosom of the plain, Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That’s the appropriate country; there, man’s thought, Rarer, intenser, {10} Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, Chafes in the censer. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain, citied to the top, Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels; Clouds overcome it; No, yonder sparkle is the citadel’s Circling its summit. {20} Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights! Wait ye the warning? Our low life was the level’s and the night’s: He’s for the morning. Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, ‘Ware the beholders! This is our master, famous, calm, and dead, Borne on our shoulders.