Death Grinn'd horrible a ghastly smile, to hear His famine should be fill'd.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn.
Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece, To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.
These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!
And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.