Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset; And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
Fare thee well, and if for ever Still for ever fare thee well.
Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls.