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Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes whate'er it touches.
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First our pleasures die - and then our hopes, and then our fears - and when these are dead, the debt is due dust claims dust - and we die too
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He hath awakened from the dream of life—
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Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart...
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No longer now/ He slays the lamb that looks him in the face,/ And horribly devours his mangled flesh;/ Which, still avenging nature's broken law,/ Kindled all putrid humours in his frame,/ All evil passions, and all vain belief,/ Hatred, despair, and loathing in his mind,/ The germs of misery, death, disease, and crime.”
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