To Belshazzar
Belshazzar! from the banquet turn,Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;Behold! while yet before thee burnThe graven words, the glowing wall,Many a despot men miscallCrowned and anointed from on high;But thou, the weakest, worst of all--Is it not written, thou must die?
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!
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.To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:But tears in Hope's averted eyeLament that even thou hadst birth--Unfit to govern, live, or die.
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