'He was a Prince of Power and Might'

'HE WAS A PRINCE OF POWER AND MIGHT'

He was a prince of power and mightBut yesternight;To-dayA senseless lump of coffined clay,To hide away.

His life was one long holiday,Careless of sorrows;A ceaseless whirligig of play—No thought for morrows.

His talents slept,Securely hid,'Neath social custom's ponderous lid;And all men keptThe vast white pearlsOf truth from him,Who held his wealth in changing curlsOf many girls,By passion's passing whim.

Dusting his eyesWith flatteries,His clouded visionSaw fields ElysianIn scenes of rank debaucheries;Until his name,Of lofty fame,Sank into shame.

He once was heard to say:'Which is the God,Jesus or Bacchus,Over us?Which heaven's true way—Where the snow on the mountain shines,Or where the valley's vinesBeckon and nod,With countless clustersOf purple lustres,In serried line on lines,Through smiling vale or over mountain snows?'—But now he knows.

He was a prince of power and mightBut yesternight;To-dayA senseless lump of coffined clay,To hide away.