Blew what brains he had away.
“How beneath the power of Marat,
Condorcet, blaspheming, fell,
Begged some laudanum of Garat,[[239]]
Drank;—and slept,—to wake in hell!
Oh that, with worthier souls uniting,
I in my country’s cause had shone!
Had died my Sovereign’s battle fighting,
Or nobly propp’d his sinking throne!—
“But hold!—I scent the gales of morning—