8. The Spaniard, (4) when the lust of sway Had lost its quickening spell, Cast crowns for rosaries away, A strict accountant of his beads, A subtle disputant on creeds, Yet better had he neither known A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne. .9. But thou-from thy reluctant hand Too late thou leav'st the high command All Evil Spirit as thou art, It is enough to grieve the heart, To see thine own unstrung; To think that God's fair world hath been The footstool of a thing so mean; 10. And Earth hath spilt her blood for him, Who thus can hoard his own! And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb, Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear, 11. Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, If thou hadst died as honour dies, Some new Napoleon might arise, 12. Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust Is vile as vulgar clay; Thy scales, Mortality! are just To all that pass away; But yet methought the living great Some higher sparks should animate, To dazzle and dismay; Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth Of these, the Conquerors of the earth. 13. And she, proud Austria's mournful flower, Thy still imperial bride; How bears her breast the torturing hour? Still clings she to thy side? Must she too bend, must she too share Thy late repentance, long despair, Thou throneless Homicide? If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, 'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem! 14. Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle, That element may meet thy smile, Or trace with thine all idle hand In loitering mood upon the sand That Corinth's pedagogue hath now 15. Thou Timour! in his captive's cage (5) What thoughts will there be thine, While brooding in thy prison'd rage? But one-" The world was mine!" Unless, like he of Babylon, All sense is with thy sceptre gone, Life will not long confine That spirit pour'd so widely forthSo long obey'd-so little worth! 16. Or like the thief of fire from heaven, (6) Wilt thou withstand the shock? And share with him, the unforgiven, Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, He in his fall preserved his pride, |