Oh! worthy still of some divine abode,

Mould of a Conqueror! ruin of a God![7]

Still, like some broken gem, whose quenchless beam

From each bright fragment pours its vital stream,

’Tis thine, by fate unconquer’d, to dispense

From every part some ray of excellence!

E’en yet, inform’d with essence from on high,

Thine is no trace of frail mortality!

Within that frame a purer being glows,

Through viewless veins a brighter current flows;