text:  And long with patient faith defying doubt and terror Thou heldest on unmoved spite of a people's error; And e'er thy race was run wert forced at last to yield The well-earned laurel-wreath of many a bloody field Fame power and deep-thought plans; and with thy sword beside thee Within a regiment's ranks alone obscure to hide thee And there a veteran chief like some young sentinel When first upon his ear rings the ball's whistling knell Thou rushedst 'mid the fire a warrior's death desiring-- In vain!-- * * * * * O men! O wretched race! O worthy tears and laughter! Priests of the moment's god ne'er thinking of hereafter! How oft among ye men! a mighty one is seen Whom the blind age pursues with insults mad and mean But gazing on whose face some future generation Shall feel as I do now regret and admiration! SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS; BEING A SEQUEL TO THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER