To mortal succour, though the tomb
Had fixed, for ever fixed, their doom!
III
Upon[17] those servants of another world
When madding Power[18] her bolts had hurled,
Their habitation shook;—it fell,
And perished, save one narrow cell;
Whither, at length, a Wretch retired
Who neither grovelled nor aspired:
He, struggling in the net of pride,