LXXXIX.

Thou dost;--but all thy foster-babes are dead-- The men of iron; and the World hath reared Cities from out their sepulchres: men bled In imitation of the things[468] they feared, And fought and conquered, and the same course steered, At apish distance; but as yet none have, Nor could, the same supremacy have neared, Save one vain Man, who is not in the grave-- But, vanquished by himself, to his own slaves a slave--[469]