Break , Victory, the palm of thy renown,
Let Favour smite her naked breast, and Fame
Don sorrow's garb; let Glory cast the crown
That decked her tresses to the cruel flame;
Robbed of his youthful prime—ah deed of shame—
The grim black steeds doth Scorpus yoke: of yore
Swiftly he drove, swift to the goal he came,
Too swiftly now his race of life is o'er.