Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall; To-morrow would have been the first 755 Of days no more deplored or curst, But bright, and long, and beckoning years, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, Guerdon of many a painful hour; To-morrow would have given him power 760 To rule, to shine, to smite, to save-- And must it dawn upon his grave? XVIII "The sun was sinking--still I lay Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed; I thought to mingle there our clay; 765 And my dim eyes of death had need, No hope arose of being freed. I cast my last looks up the sky, And there between me and the sun I saw the expecting raven fly, 770 Who scarce would wait till both should die Ere his repast begun. He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more, And each time nearer than before; I saw his wing through twilight flit, 775 And once so near me he alit I could have smote, but lack'd the strength; But the slight motion of my hand, And feeble scratching of the sand, The exerted throat's faint struggling noise, 780 Which scarcely could be call'd a voice, Together scared him off at length.-- I know no more--my latest dream Is something of a lovely star Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar, 785 And went and came with wandering beam, And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense Sensation of recurring sense, And then subsiding back to death, And then again a little breath, 790 A little thrill, a short suspense, An icy sickness curdling o'er My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain-- A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, A sigh, and nothing more. 795 XIX