Long after there were none of them alive 
About the place?where there is now no place 
But a walled hole where fruitless vines embrace 
Their parent skeletons that yet survive 
In evil thorns?none of us could arrive
At a more cogent answer to their ways 
Than one old Isaac in his latter days 
Had humor or compassion to contrive. 

I mentioned them, and Isaac shook his head: 
?The Power that you call yours and I call mine
Extinguished in the last of them a line 
That Satan would have disinherited. 
When we are done with all but the Divine, 
We die.? And there was no more to be said.