Beyond the influence of the bowl,
Into th’ eternal gulf of death!
(O God, forbid that such an one
Should breathe his last in such a state!
Or ever an unholy son
Inebriately should meet death’s fate.)
Look, look ye down the plumbless deep,
See,[14] if ye can, their lifeless forms!—
Here laid, poor things! across a steep,
An infant in its mother’s arms;