With humbled eyes that go to graze upon
The lowly grass--like him of Babylon.


XXII.

The lowly grass!--O water-constant mind!
Fast-ebbing holiness!--soon-fading grace
Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind
Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face
For ever!--How they lift their eyes to find
Old vanities!--Pride wins the very place
Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now
With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow!


XXIII.

And lo! with eager looks they seek the way
Of old temptation at the lowly gate;
To feast on feathers, and on vain array,
And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state
Of jewel-sprinkled locks,--But where are they,
The graceless haughty ones that used to wait
With lofty neck, and nods, and stiffen'd eye?--
None challenge the old homage bending by.


XXIV.