Prince, watcher, wearied one! when thou hast shown
How brief the cloudy space which parts the grave and throne.
XXXVI.
The signs are full. They are not in the sky,
Nor in the many voices of the air,
Nor the swift clouds. No fiery hosts on high
Toss their wild spears: no meteor banners glare,
No comet fiercely shakes its blazing hair;
And yet the signs are full: too truly seen
In the thinn’d ramparts, in the pale despair