Mark, as he passes, every head declined ;
Then slowly raised, — to curse him from behind.
This is the veriest wretch on nature's face,
Own'd by no country, spurn'd by every race ;
The tether'd tyrant of one narrow span,
The bloated vampire of a living man ;
His frame, — a fungus form, of dunghill birth,
That taints the air, and rots above the earth ;
His soul ; — ^has he a soul, whose sensual breast
Of selfish passions is a serpent's nest ?
Who follows headlong, ignorant, and blind,
The vagvie brute-instinct of an idiot mind ;
Whose heart, midst scenes of sutlering senseless
grown. E'en in his mother's lap was chill'd to stone ; Whose torpid pulse no social feelings move ; A stranger to the tenderness of love, His motley haram charms his gloating eye, Where ebon, brown, and olive beauties vie ;