28 !) 
Go, child of dust, and from thy brows 
Oli! tear the myrtle and the rose: 
If crown thou wear’st, this prickly stem 
For thee were fitter diadem, 
Since earth thorns bore not, till thy fall 
Threw blight and ruin over all. 
Gaze on the sky — there was a time 
When storms ne’er dimm’d its arch sublime; 
Look on the ground — once not a weed 
Was mingled with the precious seed; 
Behold the rose — the garden’s gem, 
Once thornless was its graceful stem. 
Sad types ! yet would that they were all 
Which mark’d the sin original! 
Ah ! go, where lingers pale decay, 
And watch life’s pulses ebb away ; 
Go to the grave; — that narrow bed 
Must pillow soon thy lonely head. 
Ay, weep, for tears become thee well; 
Weep whilst thou hear’st yon passing bell 
So sternly eloquent, — declare 
Of what sad doom thou art the heir. 
u 
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