All, all the same as when his golden prime 38 Lay in the lap of Life's soft Arcady; When the light love beheld no foe but Time, When but from Pleasure heaved the prophet sigh, And Luxury's prayer was as "a Summer day, 'Mid blooms and sweets to wear the hours away." "Behold," the Genius said, "is that thy choice 39 As once it was?" "Nay, I have wept since then," Answer'd the mortal with a mournful voice, "When the dews fall, the stars arise for men!" So turn'd he to the second arch to see The imperial peace of tranquil majesty;-- The kingly throne, himself the dazzling king; 40 Bright arms, and jewell'd vests, and purple stoles; While silver winds, from many a music-string, Rippled the wave of glittering banderolls: From mitred priests and ermined barons, clear Came the loud praise which monarchs love to hear! "Doth this content thee?" "Ay," the Prince replied, 41 And tower'd erect, with empire on his brow; "Ay, here at once a Monarch may decide, Be but the substance worthy of the show! Show me the men whose toil the pomp creates, Pomp is the robe,--Content the soul, of States!" Slow fades the pageant, and the Phantom stage 42 As slowly fill'd with squalid, ghastly forms; Here, over fireless hearths cower'd shivering Age And blew with feeble breath dead embers;--storms Hung in the icy welkin; and the bare Earth lay forlorn in Winter's charnel air. And Youth all labour-bow'd, with wither'd look, 43 Knelt by a rushing stream whose waves were gold, And sought with lean strong hands to grasp the brook, And clutch the glitter lapsing from the hold, Till with mad laugh it ceased, and, tott'ring down, Fell, and on frowning skies scowl'd back the frown. No careless Childhood laugh'd disportingly, 44 But dwarf'd, pale mandrakes with a century's gloom On infant brows, beneath a poison-tree With skeleton fingers plied a ghastly loom, Mocking in cynic jests life's gravest things, They wove gay King-robes, muttering "What are Kings?" And through that dreary Hades to and fro, 45 Stalk'd all unheeded the Tartarean Guests; Grim Discontent that loathes the Gods, and Woe Clasping dead infants to her milkless breasts; And madding Hate, and Force with iron heel, And voiceless Vengeance sharp'ning secret steel. And, hand in hand, a Gorgon-visaged Pair, 46 Envy and Famine, halt with livid smile, Listening the demon-orator Despair, That, with a glozing and malignant guile, Seems sent the gates of Paradise to ope, And lures to Hell by simulating Hope.