Page:Pictures In Rhyme.djvu/72

44 Who held his wealth in changing curls Of many girls, By passion's passing whim.

Dusting his eyes With flatteries, His clouded vision Saw fields Elysian In scenes of rank debaucheries; Until his name, Of lofty fame, Sank into shame.

He once was heard to say: 'Which is the God, Jesus or Bacchus, Over us? Which heaven's true way— Where the snow on the mountain shines, Or where the valley's vines Beckon and nod, With countless clusters Of purple lustres,