Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place A limit to the giants unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?
So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves1 To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Thanatopsis.
Note 1. The edition of 1821 read, The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take. [back]