THOUGHTS ON THE AUTHOR's OWN DEATH . WRITTEN WHEN VERY YOUNG . Thus , when the fatal stroke of Death's design'd , On oozy banks th'expiring swan reclin'd , Her own sad requiem sings in languid note , While o'er the stream the dying echoes float . But , ah ! can youth dwell on the tragic part ? Can I describe the trembling , panting heart ? In Fancy's frolic age can I relate The pangs , the terrors of a dying state ? Yes — tho' unskill'd , I'll the grim shade pursue , And bring the distant terror to my view ; Dwell on the horrors of that gloomy hour ; Death , made familiar , loses half his power . Peace then , ye passions of ungovern'd youth , Foes to reflection , enemies to truth ! Let me , unruffled by your clamorous voice , Make the drear regions of the tomb my choice ; And while sad Fancy paints the dismal scene , Where restless ghosts by midnight moons are seen Stalk o'er the gloomy grave , Muse ! be it thine To rouse the vain , the giddy , and supine , Who Pleasure's rounds pursue ; while young Desire Wakes the gay dream , and feeds the dangerous fire : From these I fly — and now , my pensive soul , Mark the harsh scream of yon death-boding owl ; Perhaps she calls some lingering , tardy ghost To smell the world , ere the dread hour be lost That parts the night from morn . Come , restless souls , Relax from torture ; you whom Fate controuls To purge your earthly crimes in liquid fire , In anguish plung'd , till ages shall expire ; ( This , Rome's grand tenet ) sin thus wash'd away , Pure , bright , and cleans'd , you'll wing to endless day . Presumption , hold ! Lo , o'er yon misty tomb Leans a sad spectre , and bemoans the doom Of never-erring Justice ; heavenly power ! Support and guard me in this gloomy hour Of dread inquiry ! — " Say , thou wretched soul , O teach a young , rash , inexperienced fool , What 'tis to die , and where thou wing'dst thy way , When turn'd a wanderer from thy house of clay ? Did'st tread soft lawns , or seek Elysian groves , Where Poets feign the lover's spirit roves ? Or , on light pinions cut the closing air , And to each planetary world repair ? Or , guideless , stray where dismal groans resound , And forked lightnings quiver on the ground ? Or did sad fiends thy unhous'd spirit meet , And with shrill yellings the poor trembler greet To the dark world ? Describe that scene of woe Which thou hast felt , and may I never know ! " " Thou'lt know , indeed , " it answers with a groan , " The pangs of death too sure shall be thy own ; Pains yet unfelt must seize thy every part , And Death's cold horrors hover round thy heart ; Thy dying eyes fix'd on some darling friend , While strong convulsions their wild orbs extend ; One gasp , and deep eternity in view , The soul shoots forth , and groans a last adieu . I dare no more — but Oh ! too curious maid , Seek not to pierce th'impenetrable shade Which wraps futurity ; thou 'rt sure to die ; Rest there , nor farther search , nor question why ; Scan not Omnipotence — of that beware ; Oft the too curious eye is dimm'd by blank despair . " Farewel , poor Ghost ! ye horrors of the night , Begone , nor more my shudd'ring soul affright ; The question unresolv'd I soon shall know , Then let me haste from this sad scene of woe . Henceforth , vain Pleasure , I renounce thy joy , Enchanting Fair , who tempt'st but to destroy ; Ye thoughtless maids who transient dreams pursue , No more my moments must be lost with you ; No more my soul in empty mirth shall share , Or fondly relish pleasures ting'd with care . And thou , all-merciful ! omniscient Power ! O teach me to redeem each mis-spent hour ; In youth the mind's best gifts most strongly shine , Ah ! let them not too suddenly decline ! In mercy add a few remaining years , The grave shall lose its sting , my soul shall lose its fears .