Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/456

422 Behold! while yet before thee burn

The graven words, the glowing wall,

Many a despot men miscall

Crowned and anointed from on high;

But thou, the weakest, worst of all—

Is it not written, thou must die?

2.

Go! dash the roses from thy brow—

Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;

Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,

More than thy very diadem,

Where thou hast tarnished every gem:—

Then throw the worthless bauble by,

Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;

And learn like better men to die!

3.

Oh! early in the balance weighed,

And ever light of word and worth,

Whose soul expired ere youth decayed,

And left thee but a mass of earth.