When nothing makes them sick but too much wealth,

Or wild o'er-boiling of ungovern'd health;
Whose grievance is satiety of ease,
Freedom their pain, and plenty their disease.
By night, by day, from pole to pole they run:
Or from the setting seek the rising Sun;
No poor deserting soldier makes such haste,
No doves pursu'd by falcons fly so fast;
And when Automedon at length attains
The place he sought for with such cost and pains,
Swift to embrace, and eager to pursue,
He finds he has no earthly thing to do;
Then yawns for sleep, the opium of the mind,
The last dull refuge indolence can find 3.

Most men, like David, wayward in extremes, Languish for Ramah's cisterns, and her streams: The bev'rage sought for comes; capricious, they Loathe their own choice, and wish the boon away 3.

Such was my state. "O gentle Sleep," I "Why is thy gift to me alone deny'd? [cry'd, Mildest of beings, friend to ev'ry clime, Where lies my errour, what has been my crime? Beasts, birds, and cattle feel thy balmy rod; The drowsy mountains wave, and seem to nod The torrents cease to chide, the seas to roar, And the hush'd waves recline upon the shore." Perhaps the wretch, whose god is wealth and


Rejects the precious object of my pray❜r:
Th' ambitious statesman strives not to partake
Thy blessings, but desires to dream awake:
"The lover rudely thrusts thee from his arms,
And like Ixion clasps imagin'd charms.
Thence come to me.-Let others ask for more;
I ask the slightest influence of thy pow'r :
Swiftest in flight of all terrestrial things,
Oh only touch my eye-lids with thy wings!"

* Currit agens mannos ad villam hic præcipitanter,

Auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans.
Oscitat extemplò tetigit cum limina villæ,
Aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia

Lucret. L. III. v. 1076.

See Sandy's Trav. p. 137, and 1 Chron. ch. xi, v. 17, &c.

All the verses in this paragraph marked with

inverted commas are imitated from a famous passage in Statius, never yet translated into our language. The original perhaps is as fine a morsel of poetry as antiquity can boast of:

Crimine quo merui juvenis placidissime divum
Quóve errore miser, donis ut solus egerem
Somne tuis? Tacet omne pecus, volucresque,
feræque ;

Et simulant fessos curvata cacumina somnos.
Nec trucibus fluviis idem sonus. Occidit horror
Aquoris, & terris maria acclinata quiescunt.
At nunc heus aliquis longa sub nocte puellæ
Brachia nexa tenens, ultro te Somne repellit.
Inde veni. Nec te totas infundere pennas
Luminibus compello meis, (hoc turba precatur
Lætior;) extremo me tange cacumine virgæ,
Sufficit; aut leviter suspenso poplite transi.
Syly, L. V.

So spoke I restless; and, then springing light From my tir'd bed, walk'd forth in meer despite. What impulse mov'd my steps I dare not say; Perhaps some guardian-angel mark'd th' way: By this time Phospher had his lamp withdrawn, And rising Phoebus glow'd on ev'ry lawn. The air was gentle, (for the month was May,) And ev'ry scene look'd innocent and gay. In pious matins birds with birds conspire,Some lead the notes, and some assist the choir.

The goat-herd, gravely pacing with his flocks, Leads them to heaths and bry'rs, and crags and rocks.

Th' impatient mower with an aspect blythe
Surveys the sain-foyn-fields, and whets his
Ynoisa, Sanchia, Beatrix, prepare [scythe,
To turn th' alfalsa-swarths 6 with anxious care,
(No more for Moorish sarabrands they call,
Their castanets hang idle on the wall :)
Alfalsa, whose luxuriant herbage feeds
The lab'ring ox, mild sheep, and fiery steeds:
Which ev'ry summer, ev'ry thirtieth morn,
Is six times re-produc'd, and six times shorn.
The Cembran pine-trees form an awful shade,
And their rich balm perfumes the neighb'ring

(Whilst humbler olives, intermix'd between,
Had chang'd their fruit to filamotte from green,)
The Punic granate op'd its rose-like flow'rs;
The orange breath'd its aromatic pow'rs.

Wand'ring still on, at length my eyes survey'd A painted seat, beneath a larch-tree's shade. I sate, and try'd to dose, but slumber fled; I then essay'd a book, and thus I read 9: "Suppose, O man, great Nature's voice should To thee, or me, or any of us all; [call 'What dost thou mean, ungrateful wretch! thou Thou mortal thing, thus idly to complain? [vain, If all the bounteous blessings I could give, Thou hadst enjoy'd; If thou hadst known to live (And pleasure not leak'd thro' thee like a sieve); Why dost thou not give thanks as at a plenteous feast, [take thy rest? Cramm'd to the throat with life, and rise and But, if my blessings thou hast thrown away, If indigested joys pass'd thro' and would not stay,

Why dost thou wish for more to squander still? If life be grown a load, a real ill,

Lay down thy burthen, fool! and know thy And I would all thy cares and labours end,


5 The best species of this grass, hitherto known, is in Andalusia.

6 Alfalsa (from the old Arabian word alfalsafat) lucerne-grass. At present the Spaniards call it also ervaye.

7 A sort of ever-green laryx: Pinus Cembra. This beautiful tree grows wild on the Spanish Appennines, and is raised by culture in less mountainous places. What name the natives give it I have forgotten; but the French in the Briançois call it meleze, and the Italians in the bishopric of Trente, in Fiume, &c. give it the name of cirmoli, not lariché,

8 The pom-granate.

The Spanish author introduces the following passages from Lucretius.


To please thee, I have empty'd all my store,
I can invent and can supply no more:
But run the round again, the round I ran before.
Suppose thou art not broken yet with years,
Yet still the self-same scene of things appears,
And would be ever, cou'dst thou ever live;
For life is still but life, there's nothing new to

What can we plead against so just a bill?
We stand convicted, and our cause goes ill.
But if a wretch, a man oppress'd by fate,
Should beg of Nature to prolong his date,
She speaks aloud to him, with more disdain;
"Be still, thou martyr-fool, thou covetous of pair.'
But if an old decrepid sot lament; [tent?
'What thou!' she cries, 'who hast out-liv'd con-
Dost thou complain, who hast enjoy'd my store?
But this is still th' effect of wishing more!
Unsatisfy'd with all that Nature brings,
Loathing the present, liking absent things.
From hence it comes, thy vain desires at strife
Within themselves, have tantaliz'd thy life;
And ghastly death appear'd before thy sight
E'er thou hast gorg'd thy soul and senses with

Now leave those joys, unsuiting to thy age,
To a fresh comer, and resign the stage.
Mean-time, when thoughts of death disturb thy

Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead:
Ancus, thy better far, was born to die;
And thou, dost thou bewail mortality?"
Charm'd with these lines of reason and good


(No matter who the author was, nor whence,)
I stopp'd, and into contemplation fell;
Amaz'd an impious wit should think so well;
Who often (to his own and reader's cost,
To show the atheist, half the poet lost,
(Knowing too much, makes many a muse unfit;
Tis not the bloom, but plethory of wit.-)
At length a drowsiness arrested thought,
And sleep (as is her custom) came unsought.
Now listen to the purport of my tale.
Methought I wander'd in a fairy vale:
Replete with people of each sex and age;
Good, bad, great, small, the foolish and the sage:
Whilst on the ground promiscuously were laid
Stars, mitres, rags, the sceptre, and the spade.

At length a haughty damne approach'd my view,
Whom by no single attribute I knew ;
For all that painters feigu, and bards devise,
Is meer mock-imag'ry, and artful lyes.
Boldly she look'd, like one of high degree;
Yet never seem'd to cast a glance on me;
At which I inly joy'd; for, truth to say,
I felt an unknown awe, and some dismay.
She pass'd me: her side-face was smooth and

(Much as fine women, turn'd of forty, are :) When, turning short, and un-perceiv'd by me, She grasp'd my throat, and spoke with stern authority:

"Him, whom I seek, art thou! Thy race is run:
My journey's ended, and thy bus'ness done.
Surrender up to me thy captive-breath,
My pow'r is nature's pow'r, my name is Death!"

10 Lucret. L. 111. translated by Dryden.

Have you e'er seen th' affrighted peasant grasp (Searching for flow'rs or fruits) th' envenom'd asp?

Or have you ever felt th' impetuous shock,
When the swift vessel splits upon a rock?
Or mark'd a face with horrour over-spread,
When the third apoplex invades the head?
Then form some image of my ghastly fright;
Fear stopp'd my voice, and terrour dimm'd my

My heart flew from its place" in consternation,
And nature felt a short annihilation: [eyes
Then-with a plunge—I sobb'd;—and with faint
Look'd upwards, to the Ruler of the skies 12
At length-recov'ring-in a broken tone-
"Princess"-I cry'd," Thy pris'ner is un-
Despair and misery succeed to fear:- [done.-
O had I known thy presence was so near!"
Abrupt th' inexorable pow'r reply'd,
('Then turn'd her face, and show'd, the hideous

"Fool! 'tis too late to wish, too late to pray:
Thou hadst the means, but not the will to pay;
Each day of human life is warning-day.
The present point of time is all thou hast,
The future doubtful and the former past!
Yet as I read contrition in thy eyes,

And thy breast heaves with terrour and surprise,
(I, who as yet was never known to show
False pity to premeditated woe)

Will graciously explain great Nature's laws,
And hear thy sophisms in so plain a cause.
There is a reason, (which to time I leave)
Why I give thee alone this short reprieve "3.
Banish thy fears, urge all thy wit can find,
Suppose me what I am, suppose thyself mankind!"

She spoke, and led me by a private way,
Where a small winding path half-printed lay:
Then, turning short, an avenue we 'spy'd,
Long, smoothly pav'd, magnificently wide.
Dark cypresses the skirting sides adorn'd,
And gloomy yew-trees, which for ever mourn'd:
Whilst on the margin of the beaten road,
Its pallid bloom sick-smelling hen-bane show'd;
Next emblematic rose-mary appear'd,
And lurid hemloc its stain'd stalks up-rear'd,
(God's signature to man in evil hour!-)
Nor were the night-shades wanting, nor the pow'r
Of thorn'd stramonium, nor the sickly flow'r
Of cloying mandrakes; the deceitful root
Of the monk's fraudful cowl 14, and Plinian
fruit 15.

Hypericon 16 was there, the herb of war,
Pierc'd thro' with wounds, and seam'd with many

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And pale nymphæa 17 with her clay-cold | And that thy likeness of a head sustain'd


And poppies, which suborn the sleep of death.
This avenue (mysterious to relate)
Surpris'd me much, and warn'd me of my fate.
Its length at first approach enormous seem'd;
Full half a thousand stadia 18 as I deem'd:
But then the road was smooth and fair to see;
(With such insensible declivity)

That what men thought a tedious course to run,
Was finish'd oft the hour it first begun.

Sudden, arriving at a palace-gate,

I saw a spectre in the portal wait:

An ill-shap'd monster, hideous to be seen; She seem'd, methought, the mother of the queen


Opening their valves, self-mov'd on either The adamantine doors expanded wide: [side, When Death commands they close, when Death

commands divide.

Then quick we enter'd a magnific hall,
Where groups of trophies over-spread the wall.
In sable scrawls I Nero's name perus'd,
And Herod's, with a sanguine stain suffus'd;
While Numa's name adorn'd a radiant place,
And that of Titus deck'd a milk white space.
"Now," cry'd the Pow'r of Death, " survey
me well:

Thy shame, remorse, and disappointment tell; Why dost thou tremble still, and whence thy dread?

Why shake thy lips, and why thy colour fled? Speak, vassal, recognize thy sov'reign queen: Hast thou ne'er seen me? Know'st thou not me, seen?"

"Liege-mistress, whom the greatest kings adore,

I own my homage, and confess thy pow'r.
Alone, that sov'reignty on Earth is thine,
Which justly proves its claim to right divine:
Thine is the old hereditary sway,

Which mortals ought, and mortals must obey.
But empress, thou hast not the form I deem'd:
Velasquez 20 painted lies, and Camoëns 20
I thought to meet, (as late as Heav'n might
A skeleton, ferocious, tall, and gaunt;
Whose loose teeth in their naked sockets shook,
And grinn'd terrific, a Sardonian look 21.
I thought, besides, thy right-hand aim'd a dart,
Resistless, to transpierce the human heart,

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A regal crown 22: but all was false, or feign'd,
"I see thee now, delusive as thou art,
Without one symbol to alarm the heart:
Not ev'n upon thy flowing vest is shown
An emblematic dart, or charnel-bone;
I rather see it, glorious to behold,

With rubies edg'd, and purfled o'er with gold:
Gay annual flow'rs adorn each vacant space,
Of short-liv'd beauty, and uncertain grace.-
Artificer of fraud and deep disguise!
Prompt to perform, ingenious to surprise:
In ev'ry light (as far as man can see
By thy consent) supreme hypocrisy !
Punish thy hopeless captive if he lies.-
Instead of a scalp'd skull, and empty eyes,
Bones without flesh, and (as we all suppose)
Vacuity of lips, and cheeks, and nose,
(So dextrous is thy sorcery and care!)
I see a woman tolerably fair.

"Instead of sable robes and mournful geer
Camelion-like, a thousand garbs you wear,
Nor bear the black and solemn thrice a year;
Drest in gay robes, whose shifting colours show
The varying glories of the show'ry bow, [green,
Glowing with waves of gold; sea-tinctur'd
Rich azure, and the bloomy gridéline 23.

"Thus in appearances you cheat us all, Plan our disgraces, and contrive our fall; Something you show, that ev'ry fool may hit, With mirth you treat, and bait that mirth with wit:

False hopes, the loves and graces of your train,
(Pimps to the great, th' ambitious, and the vain,)
Summon your guests, and in attendance wait;
While you, like eastern queens, conceal'd in


O'erlook the whole; th' audacious jest refine,
Smile on the feast 24, and sparkle in the wine.
Arachné thus in ambush'd covert lies;
Wits, atheists, jobbers, statesmen, are the flies.
Doom'd to be lost, they dream of no deceit,
And, fond of ruin, over-look the cheat;
Pride stands for joy, and riches for delight:-
Weak men love weakness, in their own despite;
And, finding in their native funds no ease,
Assume the garb of fools and hope to please.-
Wretches when sick of life for rats-bane cail:
'Twere worth our while to give them fool-bane
Since by degrees each mis-conceiving elf [all:
Is ruin'd, not by nature, but himself.

"Too late I see thy fraudful face entire:
One-half half-mimics health; half-means desire;
And, tho' true youth and nature have no part,
Yet paint enlivens it, and wiles, and art;
Colours laid on with a true harlot-grace;
They only show themselves, and hide the face.
The other half is hideous to behold,
Ugly as grandame-apes, and full as old.

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There time has spent the fury of his course,
And plough'd and harrow'd with repeated force :
One blinking eye with scalding rheum suffus'd,
A leg contracted, and an arm disus'd;
An half-liv'd emblem, fit for man to see;
An hemiplegia of deformity!

"But princess, to thy cunning be it known, This emblematic side is rarely shown;

Man would start back if wedded to the crone.
Side-long it is your custom to advance,
Show the fair half, and hide the foul, askance;
And, like a vet'ran tempter, cast an eye
Of glancing blandishment in passing by.

By stealing side-ways with a silent pace
Man rarely sees the moral of your face:
And (what's the dang'rous frenzy of the whim)
Concludes, you've no immediate call for him,
Adjoin to this, your necromantic pow'r,
Contracting half an age to half an hour.
Just so the cyphers from the unit fled,
When Malicorn the demon's contract read 25.
The unit in the fore-most column stood,
And the two cyphers were obscur'd with blood 26.

Two other mistress-arts you make your own;
To Circe and Urganda arts unknown:
When men look on you, and your steps survey,
You seem to glide a-slant another way:
But the first moment they withdraw their eye,
Swift you take wing, and like a vulture fly,
Which snuffs the distant quarry in the wind,
And marks the carcass she is sure to find.--
The next deception is more wondrous still;
O grand artificer of fraud and ill!

When the sick man up-lifts the sash t' inhale
Th' enlivening breezes of the western gale,
To snatch one glimpse of ease from flow'ry

And (fancying) taste the joy which nature yields;
Far as the landscape's verge admits his view,
He sees a phantom, and concludes it you.
A gleam of courage then relieves his breast,
Be calm my soul,' he cries, and take thy
rest 27:

When at that moment, dreadful to relate,
(For all but he that ought observe his fate,)
The wife, the son, the friend perceive thee stand
Behind his curtains with uplifted hand,
Thee, real Thee! to drive the deadly dart,
And at one sudden stroke transpierce


25 D. of Guise, a Tragedy. Dryden. 26 Malicorn was an astrologer advanced in years, but being ambitious of making a great figure in this world, made over his soul to Satan, upon condition that he enjoyed earthly grandeur for 100 years more. The contract was written, signed and sealed in due form, when lo, at the expiration of one year the evil spirit entered Malicorn's chamber, preceded by thunder and lightning, and demanded him as his forfeit. The astrologer was exceedingly terrified, and, after making many remonstrances, insisted on seeing the original contract; but the cyphers in number 100 were written with eva nescent ink, and the figure 1 only remained legible. The moral of this fiction is incomparable. See Act V, Sc. 5.

Luke, ch. xii. v. 13.

"Culprit, thou hast thy piteous story told, As trite as Priam's tale, and twice as old," Reply'd the queen: "painters and bards, 'tis true, Have neither sung me right, nor justly drew: I am not the gaunt spectre they devise With chap-fall'n mouth, and with extinguish'd


Whether enlighten'd with an heav'nly ray,
Or whether thou hast better guess'd than they,
I say not; yet thus much I must confess,
Thy knowledge is superior, or thy guess.

I own the feign'd retreat, th' oblique advance,
The flight I take unseen, th' illusive glance,
The blandishments of artificial grace,
The sound, the palsy'd limbs, and double face,
| All I contend for, (there the question lies,)
Is this ; Let men but look thro' wisdom's eyes,
And death ne'er takes them by a false surprize.

"Did not thy Maker, when he gave thee birth, Create thee out of perishable earth? Where hot, and cold, the rough, and lenient fight, The hard, and soft, the heavy, and the light: Whilst ev'ry atom fretted to decay The heterogeneous lump of jarring clay?— Was not just death entail'd on thee and all, (Such the decree of Heav'n) in Adam's fall ? The parent-plant receiv'd a taint at root, Hence the weak branches, hence the sickly fruit.


"Thus with spring's genial balin and sun-shine The annual flouret lifts its tender heal, In summer blooming, and at winter dead; Nay, if by chance a lasting plant be found, Whose roots pierce deep th' inhospitable ground; Whose verdant leaves, (life's common autumn Bid fair t' out-live the bitter wintry blast, [past) And green old-age predicts a vernal shoot ;— I lend my hand to pluck both branch and root.— Man is no more perennial than a flow'r;

Some may live years, some months and some an hour.

"When first thou gav'st the promise of a man, When th' embryon-speck of entity began, Was not the plastic atom at a strife, "Twixt death ambiguous and a twilight life, Struggling with dubious shade and dubious light, Like the Moon's orb; whilst nations in affright Hope for new day, but fear eternal night ?

"When motionless the half-form'd foetus lay, And doubtful life just gleam'd a glimm'ring ray, When nature bade the vital tide to roll,

I cloth'd with crust of flesh that gem the soul;
My mortal dart th' immortal stream defil'd,
And the sire's frailties flow'd into the child.
The very milk his pious mother gave,
Turn'd poison, and but nurs'd him for the grave*,
In ev'ry atom that his frame compos'd
I weak to strong, unsound to sound oppos'd.
Cruel, and proud of a deputed reign,
I ting'd the limpid stream with gloomy pain;
Nor yet contented, in the current threw
Discolour'd sickness of each dismal hue.

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Thus from the source which first life's waters gave,

Till their last final home, the ocean-grave,
Infection blends itself in ev'ry wave:
Marasmus, atrophy, the gout, and stone;
Fruits of our parents' folly and our own!

"To live in health and case you idly feign;
Man's sprightliest days are intermitting pain.
Changing for worse, and never warn'd by ill,
Still the same bait, the same deception still!
Youth has new times for change, and may com-
Age ventures all upon a losing hand. [mand;
The liberty you boast of is a cheat;
Licentiousness lurks under the deceit :
Plenty of means you have, and pow'r to chuse ;
Yet still you take the bad, the good refuse.
The freedom of the tempests you enjoy,
Born to o'erturn, and breathing to destroy.
These injure not themselves, the reas'ning elf
Injures alike both others and himself.
Sour'd in his liveliest hours, infirm when strong,
Unsure at safest, and but short when long.
"Hast thou with anxious care and strictest

Made that nice estimate of time you ought? Time, like the precious di'mond, should be weigh'd;

Carats, not pounds, must in the scale be laid.
Know'st thou the value of a year, a day,
An hour, a moment, idly thrown away?
Then had thy life been blessedly employ'd,
And all thy minutes sensibly enjoy'd!
What are they now, and whither are they flown?
Th' immortal pain subsists, the mortal pleasure's

Can'st thou recall them?-Impotent and vain!
Or have they promis'd to return again?
Cali (if thou can'st) the winged arrow back,
Which lately cut thro' air its viewless track;
Or bid the cataract ascend its source, [course;
Which pour'd from Alpine heights its furious
Ah no-Time's vanish'd! and you only find
A cold, unsatisfying scent behind!

"Foe to delays, economist of time,
Thrice-happy Titus, virtuous in thy prime!
In whom the noon day-or the setting Sun
Ne'er saw a work of goodness left undone.-
Old age compounds, or (more provoking yet)
Sends a small gift, when Heav'n expects the debt.
Bring not the leavings of thy faint desires
To him who gives the best, and best requires;
Man mocks his Maker, and derides his law :
Satan has the full ears, and God the straw.
"Behold the wretch, who long has health enjoy'd,
With gold unsated and with pow'r uncloy'd;
Salmoneus like, to fancy'd greatness rais'd,
With slaves surrounded, and by flatt'rers prais'd:
See him against his nature vainly strive,
The busiest, pertest, proudest thing alive!
(As if beyond the patriarchal date
Exceptive mercy had prolong'd his fate.)
When lo! behind the variegated cloud,
Euwrapt in mists, and muffled in a shrowd,
The dissolution of old age comes on,
Gouts, palsies, asthmas, jaundice, and the stone:
An hungry, merciless, insatiate band,
Eager as Croats for Death's last command!

Which still repeat their mercenary strain,

'Lead us, to add the living to the slain.'

"Then mark the worldling, and explore him well:

His grief, his shame, and self-conviction tell : Weak were my joys,' (he cries,) and short their stay:

Pride mark'd the race, and folly pick'd the way. Can I revoke my mis-directed pow'r? [hour? Where's my lost hope, and where the vanish'd Curst be that greatness which blind fortune lent; Curst be that wealth which sprung not from content!

Still, still my conscious memory prevails; And understanding paints where mem'ry fails!' "Allow me next with confidence to say, As safely with the strictest truth I may ;) "Why dost thou, ideot, senselessly complain, (Fond of more life, and covetous of pain,)

That I, a tyrant, seize thee by surprize?"Flames, as she spoke, shot flashing from her "Dotard! I gave thee waruing ev'ry hour; [eyes. Announc'd my presence, and proclaim'd my pow'r.

One only bus'ness in the world was thine,
Born but to die! t' exact the payment mine.
If, atheist-like, you blame the just decree,
Attack thy Maker, but exculpate me!
Mortality's coeval with thy breath;
Life is a chain of links which lead to death.
Sleep-wake-run-creep-alike to death you
Death's in thy meat, thy wine, thy sleep, thy
Know'st thou not me, my warnings, and alarms?
Thou, who so oft hast slumber'd in my arms!
For ever seeing, can'st thou nought descry?
Dead ev'ry night, and yet untaught to die!
"How dar'st thou give thy impious murmurs
Thyself a breathing, speaking monument?
No death is sudden to a wretch like thee,
The emblem of his own mortality!
Above, beneath, within thee, and without,
All things fore-show the stroke, and clear the
The very apoplex, thy swiftest foc, [doubt,
Forewarns his coming; and approaches slow;
Sudden confusions interrupt thy brain;
Swift thro' thy temples shoots the previous pain;
Suspicion follows, and mis-giving fear.-
Death always speaks, if man would strive to


"Acquit me then of fraudulent surprise: Leave sophistry to wits; be truly wise; For, as the cedar falls, it ever lies 29 ! Start not at what we call our latest breath; | The morning of man's real life is death 30" So spake the pow'r, Who never felt control. Fear smote my heart, and conscience stung my soul;

Remorse, vexation, shame, and anger strive.I wak'd:-and (to my joy) I wak'd alive. Never was human transport more sincere ;And the best men may find instruction here.

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