Which makes us stoop from our aërial heights, 287
And, damp’d with omen of our own decease,
On drooping pinions of ambition lower’d,
Just skim earth’s surface, ere we break it up,
O’er putrid earth to scratch a little dust,
And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends
Are angels sent on errands full of love;
For us they languish, and for us they die:
And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain?
Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades,