II.

Deep in the vale from which those towers arose, A life more shatter'd, sought more late repose; In Seaton long had men and marts obey'd The unerring hierarch in thy temple, Trade. Trade, the last earth-god; whom the Olympian Power Begot on Danae, as the Golden Shower, To whose young hands the weary Jove resign'd. Some ages since, the scales that weigh mankind. But that dire Fate, who Jove himself controll'd, Still shakes the urn, although the lots are gold: Reverses came, the whirlwind of a day Swept the strong labours of a life away; Rased out of sight whate'er is sold or bought, And left but name and honour--men said "nought." True, knavery whisper'd, "Only still disguise: Credit is generous, if you blind its eyes; The borrow'd prop arrests the house's fall, And one rich chance may yet reconquer all." There on his priest the earth-god lost control, And from the wreck the merchant saved his soul "Alone, I rose," he said; "I fall alone-- Nor one man's ruin shall accuse mine own." And so, life passing from the gorgeous stage, The curtain fell on Poverty and Age.