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But all elated, on its verdant stem, Confiding solely in its regal height, It soared presumptuous, as for empire born; And God for this removed its diadem, And cast it from its regions of delight, Forth to the spoiler, as a prey and scorn, By the deep roots uptorn! And lo! encumbering the lone hills it lay, Shorn of its leaves, dismantled of its state, While, pale with fear, men hurried far away, Who in its ample shade had found so late Their bower of rest; and nature's savage race 'Midst the great ruin sought their dwelling-place.

But thou, base Libya, thou whose arid sand Hath been a kingdom's death-bed, where one fate Closed her bright life, and her majestic fame, Though to thy feeble and barbarian hand Hath fallen the victory, be not thou elate! Boast not thyself, though thine that day of shame, Unworthy of a name!