And as I gaze upon his burning brow
My truant, willful thoughts abide no rest,
But wander forth in search of those who now,
Like me, engage perchance an idle hour
In still more idle speculation, whence,
(E’en as the case may be,) yon orb of power
Steals, begs, or borrows his magnificence: —
And as he slowly wades beyond our sight,
Methinks I hear him likened to a king,
On rosy couch retiring for the night,