Thou Timour! in his captive’s cage—
What thoughts will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prisoned rage?
But one—‘The world was mine!’ 130
Unless, like he of Babylon,
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
Life will not long confine
That spirit poured so widely forth—
So long obeyed—so little worth! 135
Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,