No grief disturbs his selfish, sensual joy;
His wife may weep, his starving children groan,
And Poverty with cruel gripe annoy.
He neither hears, nor heeds their famish'd moan,
The glorious wine-cup owns no base alloy.
Surrounded by a low, degraded train,
His fiendish laugh defiance bids to pain;
He hugs the cup--more dear than friends to him--
Nor sees stern ruin from the goblet rise,
Nor flames of hell careering o'er the brim,--