But Shapes that come not at an earthly call, 90 Will not depart when mortal voices bid; Lords of the visionary eye whose lid, Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall! Ye Gods, thought He, that servile Implement Obeys a mystical intent! 95 Your Minister would brush away The spots that to my soul adhere; But should she labour night and day, They will not, cannot disappear; Whence angry perturbations,--and that look 100 Which no philosophy can brook! VI Ill-fated Chief! there are[191] whose hopes are built Upon the ruins of thy glorious name;[192] Who, through the portal of one moment's guilt, Pursue thee with their deadly aim![193] 105 O matchless perfidy![194] portentous lust Of monstrous crime!--that horror-striking blade, Drawn in defiance of the Gods, hath laid The noble Syracusan low in dust! Shudder'd[195] the walls--the marble city wept-- 110 And sylvan places heaved a pensive sigh; But[196] in calm peace the appointed Victim slept, As he had fallen in magnanimity; Of spirit too capacious to require That Destiny her course should change; too just 115 To his own native greatness[197] to desire That wretched boon, days lengthened by mistrust. So[198] were the hopeless troubles, that involved The soul of Dion, instantly dissolved. Released from life and cares of princely state, 120 He left this moral grafted on his Fate; "Him only pleasure leads, and peace attends, Him, only him, the shield of Jove defends, Whose means are fair and spotless as his ends." * * * * * The following suggested variations of text also exist in MS.--ED.