If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, 'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem! 14. Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle, 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 forth— So long obey'd-so little worth! 16. Or like the thief of fire from heaven,6 Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, The very He in his fall preserved his pride, And, if a mortal, had as proudly died! |