It well bespeaks a man beheaded, quite
Divested of the laurel robe of life,
When every member struggles for its base;
The head, the power of order, now recedes,
Unheeded efforts rise on every side,
With dull emotion rolling through the brain
Of apprehending slaves. The flocks and herds
In sad confusion now run to and fro,
And seem to ask, distressed, the reason why
That they are thus prostrated. Howl, ye dogs!
Ye cattle, low! Ye sheep, astonish'd, bleat!
Ye bristling swine, trudge squealing through the glades,
Void of an owner to impart your food.
Sad horses, lift your head and neigh aloud,
And caper, frantic, from the dismal scene;
Mow the last food upon your grass clad lea,
And leave a solitary home behind,
In hopeless widowhood, no longer gay.
The trav'ling sun of gain his journey ends
In unavailing pain; he sets with tears--
A King, sequestered, sinking from his throne,
Succeeded by a train of busy friends,
Like stars which rise with smiles to mark the flight
Of awful Phoebus to another world.
Stars after stars in fleet succession rise,
Into the wide empire of fortune clear,
Regardless of the donor of their lamps,
Like heirs forgetful of parental care,
Without a grateful smile or filial tear,
Redound in reverence to expiring age.
But soon parental benediction flies
Like vivid meteors in a moment gone,
As though they ne'er had been; but O, the state,
The dark suspense in which poor vassals stand;
Each mind upon the spire of chance hangs, fluctuant,
The day of separation is at hand.
Imagination lifts her gloomy curtain
Like ev'ning's mantle at the flight of day,
Through which the trembling pinnacle we spy,
On which we soon must stand with hopeful smiles,
Or apprehending frowns, to tumble on
The right or left forever.