'Take physic, Pomp!' Look on that noble brow-
Of what avail thy garish splendours now-
The crown of Empire, worn for three short years,
Ending in madness, murder, blood, and tears?
Of stately form and mien, high-soul'd and brave-
From anarchy, misrule, and strife to save
He came. Deserted and deceived, he failed-
And fell, by twofold treachery assailed.
Unhappy Charlotte! Ah, the 'weeping blood
In woman's heart' wells up into a flood
Of tender pity, while kind angels shed
Celestial tears on thy devoted head!
Oh, hapless victim, offered at the shrine
Of false ambition! more than death was thine,
When blank despair rung hope's expiring knell
Upon thine ear, till reason reeled and fell!
Allured to southern climes-oh, ill-starred pair!-
By hope's deluding meretricious glare-
An ignis fatuus, dazzling to betray,
Ye followed, fell, and perished in the way!