"When the cock crew, he wept"--smote by that eye Which looks on me, on all: that Power, who bids This midnight sentinel, with clarion shrill (Emblem of that which shall awake the dead), Rouse souls from slumber, into thoughts of heaven. Shall I too weep? Where then is fortitude? And, fortitude abandon'd, where is man? I know the terms on which he sees the light; He that is born, is listed; life is war; Eternal war with woe. Who bears it best, 10 Deserves it least.--On other themes I'll dwell. Lorenzo! let me turn my thoughts on thee, And thine, on themes may profit; profit there, Where most thy need; themes, too, the genuine growth Of dear Philander's dust. He thus, though dead, May still befriend--what themes? Time's wondrous price, Death, friendship, and Philander's final scene. So could I touch these themes, as might obtain Thine ear, nor leave thy heart quite disengaged, The good deed would delight me; half impress 20 On my dark cloud an Iris; and from grief Call glory.--Dost thou mourn Philander's fate? I know thou say'st it: says thy life the same? He mourns the dead, who lives as they desire. Where is that thrift, that avarice of time, (O glorious avarice!) thought of death inspires, As rumour'd robberies endear our gold? O time! than gold more sacred; more a load Than lead to fools; and fools reputed wise. What moment granted man without account? 30 What years are squander'd, wisdom's debt unpaid! Our wealth in days, all due to that discharge. Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he's at the door, Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest, No composition sets the prisoner free. Eternity's inexorable chain Fast binds; and vengeance claims the full arrear. How late I shudder'd on the brink! how late Life call'd for her last refuge in despair! That time is mine, O Mead! to thee I owe; 40 Fain would I pay thee with eternity. But ill my genius answers my desire; My sickly song is mortal, past thy cure. Accept the will;--that dies not with my strain. For what calls thy disease, Lorenzo? not For Esculapian, but for moral aid. Thou think'st it folly to be wise too soon. Youth is not rich in time, it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment, but in purchase of its worth; 50 And what its worth, ask death-beds; they can tell. Part with it as with life, reluctant; big With holy hope of nobler time to come; Time higher aim'd, still nearer the great mark 54 Of men and angels; virtue more divine. Is this our duty, wisdom, glory, gain? (These Heaven benign in vital union binds) And sport we like the natives of the bough, When vernal suns inspire? Amusement reigns Man's great demand: to trifle, is to live: And is it then a trifle, too, to die?