And even thus, what weary way were planned, To seek oblivion through the far-off gate Of birth, when that of death is close at hand! 75 For this is law, if law there be in Fate: What never has been, yet may have its when; The thing which has been, never is again. XIX The mighty river flowing dark and deep, With ebb and flood from the remote sea-tides Vague-sounding through the City's sleepless sleep, Is named the River of the Suicides; For night by night some lorn wretch overweary, 5 And shuddering from the future yet more dreary, Within its cold secure oblivion hides. One plunges from a bridge's parapet, As if by some blind and sudden frenzy hurled; Another wades in slow with purpose set 10 Until the waters are above him furled; Another in a boat with dreamlike motion Glides drifting down into the desert ocean, To starve or sink from out the desert world. They perish from their suffering surely thus, 15 For none beholding them attempts to save, The while thinks how soon, solicitous, He may seek refuge in the self-same wave; Some hour when tired of ever-vain endurance Impatience will forerun the sweet assurance 20 Of perfect peace eventual in the grave. When this poor tragic-farce has palled us long, Why actors and spectators do we stay?-- To fill our so-short roles out right or wrong; To see what shifts are yet in the dull play 25 For our illusion; to refrain from grieving Dear foolish friends by our untimely leaving: But those asleep at home, how blest are they! Yet it is but for one night after all: What matters one brief night of dreary pain? 30 When after it the weary eyelids fall Upon the weary eyes and wasted brain; And all sad scenes and thoughts and feelings vanish In that sweet sleep no power can ever banish, That one best sleep which never wakes again. 35 XX I sat me weary on a pillar's base, And leaned against the shaft; for broad moonlight O'erflowed the peacefulness of cloistered space, A shore of shadow slanting from the right: The great cathedral's western front stood there, 5 A wave-worn rock in that calm sea of air. Before it, opposite my place of rest, Two figures faced each other, large, austere; A couchant sphinx in shadow to the breast, An angel standing in the moonlight clear; 10 So mighty by magnificence of form, They were not dwarfed beneath that mass enorm. Upon the cross-hilt of the naked sword The angel's hands, as prompt to smite, were held; His vigilant intense regard was poured 15 Upon the creature placidly unquelled, Whose front was set at level gaze which took No heed of aught, a solemn trance-like look.