For which the spoiler thanks thee not. Foul feeder! 250 Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well, And leave as keen a relish on the sense. Look how the fair one weeps!--the conscious tears Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flowers: Honest effusion! the swoln heart in vain Works hard to put a gloss on its distress. Strength, too,--thou surly, and less gentle boast Of those that laugh loud at the village ring! A fit of common sickness pulls thee down With greater ease than e'er thou didst the stripling 260 That rashly dared thee to the unequal fight. What groan was that I heard?--deep groan indeed! With anguish heavy laden; let me trace it: From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man, By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart Beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant To give the lungs full play. What now avail The strong-built, sinewy limbs, and well spread shoulders? See how he tugs for life, and lays about him, 270 Mad with his pains!--Eager he catches hold Of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard, Just like a creature drowning;--hideous sight! Oh! how his eyes stand out, and stare full ghastly! While the distemper's rank and deadly venom Shoots like a burning arrow 'cross his bowels, And drinks his marrow up.--Heard you that groan? It was his last.--See how the great Goliath, Just like a child that brawl'd itself to rest, Lies still.--What mean'st thou then, O mighty boaster! 280 To vaunt of nerves of thine? What means the bull, Unconscious of his strength, to play the coward, And flee before a feeble thing like man, That, knowing well the slackness of his arm, Trusts only in the well-invented knife? With study pale, and midnight vigils spent, The star-surveying sage, close to his eye Applies the sight-invigorating tube; And, travelling through the boundless length of space, Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs, 290 That roll with regular confusion there, In ecstasy of thought. But, ah, proud man! Great heights are hazardous to the weak head; Soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails; And down thou dropp'st into that darksome place, Where nor device nor knowledge ever came. Here the tongue-warrior lies, disabled now, Disarm'd, dishonour'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd, And cannot tell his ails to passers-by. Great man of language!--whence this mighty change, 300 This dumb despair, and drooping of the head? Though strong persuasion hung upon thy lip, And sly insinuation's softer arts In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue; Alas, how chop-fallen now! Thick mists and silence Rest, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast Unceasing.--Ah! where is the lifted arm, The strength of action, and the force of words, The well-turn'd period, and the well-timed voice,