Lone and discarded one! divorced by fate,
Far from thy wished-for fellows—whither art flown?
Where lingerest thou in thy bereaved estate,
Like some lost star, or buried meteor stone?
Thou mindst me much of that presumptuous one
Who loth, aught less than greatest, to be great,
From Heaven’s immensity fell headlong down
To live forlorn, self-centred, desolate:
Or who, like Heraclid, hard exile bore,
Now buoyed by hope, now stretched on rack of fear,