To you I pray not: Your afflicting hand }
Has given the sign to quit this earthly strand: }
I bow with joy to your implied command! }
Yes--in the bosom of eternal fate
Some real joys, perhaps, my soul await:
Some peace may yet be mine--some powerful rock,
Unmoved by terror, or misfortune's shock;
Some vale of calmness, some sequester'd shore,
Where hope, and fear, and sorrow, are no more.

"My soul, thro' endless ages doom'd to live,
A quenchless flame, must every sphere survive:
Whence, then, these sorrows in her mortal times;
Chain'd down to woe, ere yet involved in crimes?
This cloud unpierced, that darkens all her way?
Is this the dawn of an eternal day?--
Death, death alone, can chase th' unfathom'd gloom,
And light the mazes of my doubtful doom!"

He spoke; and gazing on the watery grave.
Approach'd with tranquil step the fatal wave,
Where the green verge with easy slope descends,
And, rippling on the sand, the water ends.
When lo! some power, with deep resistless force,
Check'd his firm soul, and stopp'd his fearless course;
He felt its languid influence thro' his breast,
And, stretch'd in sleep, the grassy margin press'd;
His weary soul to balmy rest resign'd,
And fancy bore these visions to his mind.