Page:The Grave, a poem, 1808 (1903).djvu/40

 6 THE GRAVE

And every smirking feature from the face ; Branding our laughter with the oaine of mad-
 * ness.

Where are the jesters now J the men of health Complexionally pleasant ? Where the droll, Whose very look and gesture was a^oke To clapping theatres and shouting crowds, And made e'en thick-lipp'd rousing Melancholy To gather up her face into a smile Before she was aware ? Ah ! sullen now. And dumb as the green turf that corera them ! Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war, -T^

The Roman Cxsare and the Grecian chiefs, The boast of story? Where the hot-brain'd
 * youth,

Who the tiara at his pleasure tore From kings of all the then disco«r'd globe ; And cried, forsooth, because his arm was ham-
 * per'd,

And had not room enough to do it's work ? Alas, how slim — dishonourably slim 1 — And cramm'd into a space we blush to name — Proud royalty ! How alter'd in thy looks ! How blank thy features, and how wan thy , Son of the morning ! whither art thou gone i Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head, And the majestic menace of thine eyes.