Portentous, as the written wall, which struck,
O’er midnight bowls, the proud Assyrian pale,
Erewhile high-flush’d, with insolence, and wine?
Like that, the dial speaks; and points to thee,
Lorenzo! loth to break thy banquet up: 410
“O man, thy kingdom is departing from thee;
And, while it lasts, is emptier than my shade.”
Its silent language such: nor need’st thou call
Thy Magi, to decipher what it means.
Know, like the Median, fate is in thy walls: