XXXIV.

"Ambition's slippery verge shall mortals tread, Where ruin's gulf unfathom'd yawns beneath? Shall life, shall liberty be lost," he said, "For the vain toys that pomp and power bequeath? The car of victory, the plume, the wreath, Defend not from the bolt of fate the brave: No note the clarion of renown can breathe, To alarm the long night of the lonely grave, Or check the headlong haste of time's o'erwhelming wave.