First, tell me, ye proud haughty reasoners, 

 Where the vast strength this creature late possessed 

 Has fled to? how the bright sparkling fire, 

 Which flashed but now from those dim rayless eyes 

 Has been extinguished? Oh—he's dead you say. 

 I know it well:—but how, and by what means? 

 Was it the arm of chance that struck him down, 

 In height of vigor, and in pride of strength, 

 To stiffen in the blast? Come, come, tell me: 

 Nay shake not thus the head's that are enriched 

 With eighty years of wisdom, gleaned from books, 

 From nights of study, and the magazines 

 Of knowledge, which your predecessors left. 

 What! not a word!—I ask you, once again, 

 How comes it that the wond'rous essence, 

 Which gave such vigour to these strong nerved limbs 

 Has leaped from its enclosure, and compelled 

 This noble workmanship of nature, thus 

 To sink Into a cold inactive clod? 

 Nay sneak not off thus cowardly—poor fools 

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