It must be so,Plato, thou reasonest well! Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? T is the divinity that stirs within us; T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
Note 1. Give me, kind Heaven, a private station, A mind serene for contemplation! Title and profit I resign; The pot of honour shall be mine. John Gay: Fables, Part ii. The Vulture, the Sparrow, and other Birds. [back]