To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind--a false creation,
Proceeding from a heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw!
Thou marshll'st me the way that I was going!
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still!
And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood!

_Shakespeare._

2.

_Alon._ (c.) For the last time, I have beheld the shadowed ocean close
upon the light. For the last time, through my cleft dungeon's roof, I now
behold the quivering lustre of the stars. For the last time, O Sun! (and
soon the hour) I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams melting the
pale mists of morn to glittering dew-drops. Then comes my death, and in the
morning of my day, I fall, which--No, Alonzo, date not the life which thou
hast run by the mean reck'ning of the hours and days, which thou hast
breathed: a life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line; by
deeds, not years. Then would'st thou murmur not, but bless the Providence,
which in so short a span, made thee the instrument of wide and spreading
blessings, to the helpless and oppressed! Though sinking in decrepit age,
he prematurely falls, whose memory records no benefit conferred by him on
man. They only have lived long, who have lived virtuously.

_Sheridan._