'Tis not so sad to know that thus he died,
Small power hath d**h to trouble such as he,
Whom, overcome by darkest treachery,
No meaner pang than pity could betide,
But that so rich a spirit—such a pride
Of pa**ion, splendor, immortality,
Such a fire—be quenched and lost so utterly,
How sinks our heart of hope betrayed, belied!
Alas, and this is so! Not all that zeal,
And power, and holy ardor could avail
To turn aside one mean a**a**in's steel!
What if within yon silent city's pale
All these imperial pa**ions that we feel
Be found at last but splendid dreams that fail?