To Belshazzar

Belshazzar! from the banquet turn,

Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;

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?

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 eye

Lament that even thou hadst birth--

Unfit to govern, live, or die.