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?