And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home,
Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great,
Beneath their argument seemed struggling; whilst
He, from above descending, stooped to touch
The loftiest thought; and proudly stooped, as though
It scarce deserved his verse. With Nature's self
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest
At will with all her glorious majesty.
He laid his hand upon "the ocean's mane,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks;
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Appennines,
And with the thunder talked as friend to friend;
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
In sportive twist,-the lightning's fiery wing,
Which, the footsteps of the dreadful God,
Marching upon the storm in vengeance, seemed;
Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed.
Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were;
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms
His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce
As equals deemed. All passions of all men,
The wild and tame, the gentle and severe;
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane;
All creeds, all seasons, time, eternity;
All that was hated, and all that was dear;

All that was hoped, all that was feared, by man,—
lie tossed about, as tempest-withered leaves;
Then, smiling, looked upon the wreck he made.
With terror now he froze the cowering blood,
And now dissolved the heart in tenderness;
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself;
But back into his soul retired, alone,
Dark, sullen. proud, gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet.
So Ocean, from the plains his waves had late

To desolation swept, retired in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,
And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought.
As some fierce comet of tremendous size,
To which the stars did reverence as it passed,
So he, through learning and through fancy, took
His flights sublime, and on the loftiest top
Of Fame's dread mountain sat; not soiled and worn,
As if he from the earth had labored up,

But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair

He looked, which down from higher regions came,
And perched it there, to see what lay beneath.

The nations gazed, and wondered much and praised. Critics before him fell in humble plight;

Confounded fell; and made debasing signs

To catch his eye; and stretched and swelled themselves To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words

Of admiration vast; and many too,

Many that aimed to imitate his flight,
With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made,

And gave abundant sport to after days.

Great man! the nations gazed and wondered much, And praised; and many called his evil good.

Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness;
And kings to do him honor took delight.
Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame;
Beyond desire, beyond ambition, full-
He died- he died of what-of wretchedness;
Drank every joy, heard every trump

Of fame; drank deeply, deeply drank; drank draughts
That common millions might have quenched, then died
Of thirst because there was no more to drink.
His goddess nature, wooed, embraced, enjoyed,
Fell from his arms abhorred; his passions died,
Died all but dreary, solitary pride.

-Robert Pollock.