_Seneca in Agamem._ [Act III. vv. 606-8.] There was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time, When humble Christians died with views sublime; When all were ready for their faith to bleed, But few to write or wrangle for their creed; When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart, And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part; When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene, And all was comfort in the death-bed scene. Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait, 'Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate; 10 Like wretched men upon the ocean cast, They labour hard and struggle to the last, "Hope against hope," and wildly gaze around, In search of help that never shall be found: Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath, Will they believe them in the jaws of Death! When these my records I reflecting read, And find what ills these numerous births succeed; What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend, With what regret these painful journeys end; 20 When from the cradle to the grave I look, Mine I conceive a melancholy book. Where now is perfect resignation seen? Alas! it is not on the village-green:-- I've seldom known, though I have often read, Of happy peasants on their dying-bed; Whose looks proclaim'd that sunshine of the breast, That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd. What I behold are feverish fits of strife, 'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life: 30 Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure; Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure; At best a sad submission to the doom, Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.