WHAT’s life? what’s death? Fate’s sunshine or its gloom?

And what th’ alternate gift that each bestows?

A glittering bubble, or a silent tomb,

A giddy whirlwind, or a calm repose.

 

Amid the agitating storm, too long

My wearied soul has felt the direful blast:

Now, DEATH, to thee I pour my pensive song,

And claim from thee a tranquil hour at last.

 

Yes, mighty AZRAEL! I with transport view

Thy pale-wing’d messengers before thee fly:

Soon shall my grateful heart declare anew,

How pleasing to the wretched ’tis to die.

 

Such is the bliss from adverse fate that springs,

Thou beamst all-radiant on my closing hour:

I mount from earth, O AZRAEL! on thy wings,

And rapturous enter RUZVAN’s* happy bower.

 

While FORTUNE’s sons, and PLEASURE’s giddy train,

Start from their revels at thy sullen call;

And as they seek some sheltering shield in vain,

Their vital flame is quench’d in viper’s gall.

 

How dire a fate life’s blessings to forego!

But, ah! how sweet to quit a world of woe.