DEATH. “Man the rest of slumber tries, Never the reflection making That, O God! asleep and waking, Every day he lives and dies; That a living corse he lies, After each day’s daily strife, Stricken by an unseen knife, In brief lapse of life, not breath, A repose which is not death; But what is death teaches life: Sugared poison ’tis, which sinks On the heart, which it o’ercometh, Which it hindereth and benumbeth. And can a man, then, live who poison drinks? ’Tis forgetting, when the links That gave life by mutual fretting To the Senses, snap, or letting The imprisoned Five go free, They can hear not, touch, or see; And can a man forget this strange forgetting? It is frenzy, that which moves Heart and eyes to taste and see Joys and shapes that ne’er can be: And can a man be found who frenzy loves? ’Tis a lethargy that proves My best friend; in trust for me, Death’s dull, drowsy weight bears he, And, by failing limb and eye, Teaches man the way to die: And can a man, then, seek this lethargy? ’Tis a shadow, which is made Without light’s contrasted aid, Moving in a spectral way, Sad, phantasmal foe of day: And can a man seek rest beneath such shade? Finally, ’tis well portrayed As Death’s Image: o’er and o’er Men have knelt its shrine before, Men have bowed the suppliant knee, All illusion though it be: And can a man this Image, then, adore? Since Baltassar here doth sleep, Since he hath the poison drank, Since he treads oblivion’s blank, Since no more his pulses leap, Since the lethargy is deep, Since, in horror and confusion, To all other sights’ exclusion, He has seen the Image--seen What this shade, this poison, mean, What this frenzy, this illusion: Since Baltassar sleepeth so, Let him sleep, and never waken: Be his body and soul o’ertaken By the eternal slumber.” (He draws his sword, and is about to kill him.) Daniel rushes in and saves the sleeper, who is dreaming a mysterious vision, which is visibly represented to the spectators. The king on awakening is captivated, as usual, by Idolatry, who proposes to him a magnificent feast, in which shall be used the sacred vessels carried away from Jerusalem. The feast is prepared; the table is brought in, on which are displayed the sacred vessels; the attendants begin serving the banquet, while Thought plays the court-fool. In the midst of the revelry Death enters, disguised as one of the servants, and, when the king calls for wine, presents him with one of the golden goblets from the table, with a mysterious aside referring to the Lord’s Supper, where the cup contains both death and life, as it is drunk worthily or unworthily. The king rises and gives the toast: “For ever, Moloch, god of the Assyrians, live!”