Cxvii

Why, that 's stability Itself, that change on change we sorrowfully saw Creep o'er the prouder piles! We acquiesced in law When the fine gold grew dim i' the temple, when the brass Which pillared that so brave abode where Knowledge was, Bowed and resigned the trust; but, bear all this caprice, Harlequinade where swift to birth succeeds decease Of hue at every turn o' the tinsel-flag which flames While Art holds booth in Fair? Such glories chased by shames Like these, distract beyond the solemn and august Procedure to decay, evanishment in dust, Of those marmoreal domes,--above vicissitude, We used to hope!