SECURE within his citadel, my heart,
A roystering King, has quaft his goblets brimm'd
At pleasure's sparkling fount,-has quaft and slept
Has hugg'd the phantom of delight-and slept
Not dreaming from his sleep he'd e'er awake
To find his towers a ruin, and his bliss
Sepulchred in the dust: but now, alas!
The truth discover'd, he assumes his staff
And walks the world, and when he'd halt, lest
Should build another citadel, and play
The merry fool he played-a voice exclaims:
'Reflect!-the Earthquake!' and he halteth not.