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LXXXVII.

At apish distance; but as yet none have,
Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd,

Save one vain man, who is not in the grave,
But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slave-

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XC.

The fool of false dominion-and a kind
Of bastard Cæsar, following him of old
With steps unequal; for the Roman's mind
Was modell’d in a less terrestrial mould,57
With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold,
And an immortal instinct which redeem'd
The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold,

Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd
At Cleopatra's feet,--and now himself he beam'd,

XCI.

And came-and saw—and conquer'd! But the man
Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee,
Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van,
Which he, in sooth, long led to victory,
With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be
A listener to itself, was strangely framed ;
With but one weakest weakness-vanity,

Coquettish in ambition, still he aim'd
At what ? can he avouch or answer what he claim'd ?

XCII.

And would be all or nothing-nor could wait
For the sure grave to level him ; few years
Had fix'd him with the Cæsars in his fate,
On whom we tread : For this the conqueror rears
The arch of triumph! and for this the tears
And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd,
An universal deluge, which appears

Without an ark for wretched man's abode,
And ebbs but to reflow !---Renew thy rainbow, God !

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