Cease, then, to vaunt—for know that ages gone
Have had a wisdom mightier than your own.
The globe, a ruined palace, still will be
To Death, Disease, and War, a mansion free,—
A mighty park, wherein, Orion-like,
The ghastly hunters unevaded strike;
Their hounds, the passions, which no arts can tame—
The ruthless beagles still pursue their game.
No sop, that puny science can devise,
Will hush their yells, or drowse their dragon eyes;