Where, the frail mortal? the poor abject worm? No, not in death, the mortal to be found. His conduct is a legacy for all; 670 Richer than Mammon's for his single heir. His comforters he comforts; great in ruin, With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields, His soul sublime; and closes with his fate. How our hearts burn'd within us at the scene! Whence this brave bound o'er limits fix'd to man? His God sustains him in his final hour! His final hour brings glory to his God! Man's glory Heaven vouchsafes to call her own. We gaze, we weep; mix'd tears of grief and joy! 680 Amazement strikes! devotion bursts to flame! Christians adore! and infidels believe! As some tall tower,[9] or lofty mountain's brow, Detains the sun, illustrious, from its height; While rising vapours, and descending shades, With damps, and darkness, drown the spacious vale; Undamp'd by doubt, undarken'd by despair, Philander, thus, augustly rears his head, At that black hour, which general horror sheds On the low level of th' inglorious throng: 690 Sweet peace, and heavenly hope, and humble joy, Divinely beam on his exalted soul; Destruction gild, and crown him for the skies, With incommunicable lustre, bright. NARCISSA. TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF P----.[10] Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere manes.--Virg. NIGHT THIRD. NARCISSA.