LXXVI.

But this is not my theme; and I return[jp]

To that which is immediate, and require

Those who find contemplation in the urn,

To look on One, whose dust was once all fire,—

A native of the land where I respire

The clear air for a while—a passing guest,

Where he became a being,—whose desire

Was to be glorious; 'twas a foolish quest,

The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest.

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