IT must be so—Plato, thou reasonest well!— | |
| Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, | |
| This longing after immortality? | |
| Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, | |
| Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul | 5 |
| Back on herself, and startles at destruction? | |
| ’T is the divinity that stirs within us; | |
| ’T is Heaven itself, that points out a hereafter, | |
| And intimates eternity to man. | |
| Eternity!—thou pleasing, dreadful thought! | 10 |
| Through what variety of untried being, | |
| Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass! | |
| The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; | |
| But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. | |
| Here will I hold. If there ’s a Power above us | 15 |
| (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud | |
| Through all her works), he must delight in virtue; | |
| And that which he delights in must be happy. | |
| But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar. | |
| I ’m weary of conjectures,—this must end ’em. | 20 |
| |
(Laying his hand on his sword.) Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life, | |
| My bane and antidote, are both before me: | |
| This in a moment brings me to an end; | |
| But this informs me I shall never die. | |
| The soul, secured in her existence, smiles | 25 |
| At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. | |
| The stars shall fade away, the sun himself | |
| Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; | |
| But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, | |
| Unhurt amid the war of elements, | 30 |
| The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds! | |
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