Ode, Sacred To The Memory Of Mrs. Oswald（2 / 2）

antistrophe

plunderer of armies! lift thine eyes,

(a while forbear, ye torturing fiends;)

seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends?

no fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies;

'tis thy trusty quondam mate,

doom'd to share thy fiery fate;

she, tardy, hell-ward plies.

epode

and are they of no more avail,

ten thousand glittering pounds a-year?

in other worlds can mammon fail,

omnipotent as he is here!

o, bitter mockery of the pompous bier,

while down the wretched vital part is driven!

the cave-lodged beggar,with a conscience clear,

expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heaven.