And now with glitt’ring menace flouts the air:
’Tis all a juggle—a butterfly, that hies
Careless from flower to flower—pairs with its kind—and dies.
Why boast in fight thy prowess, warrior wild?
What was it? scum—mere froth upon the sea
Of time—self-love impell’d thee—fortune smiled—
Thy docile troop must needs their Chief obey.
But come, lay bare thy heart! and at the shrine
Of truth confess! (concealment now were shame)
Where is the merit of that act of thine,