Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.

Ah, tell them they are men!

The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.

Low on his funeral couch he lies!