XXIX.

Hast thou beheld some sovereign spirit, hurl’d By Fate’s rude tempest from its radiant sphere, Doom’d to resign the homage of a world, For Pity’s deepest sigh and saddest tear? Oh! hast thou watch’d the awful wreck of mind That weareth still a glory in decay? Seen all that dazzles and delights mankind-- Thought, science, genius--to the storm a prey; And o’er the blasted tree, the wither’d ground, Despair’s wild nightshade spread, and darkly flourish round?