And gently slope our passage to the grave;
How warmly to be wish’d! What heart of flesh 690
Would trifle with tremendous? dare extremes?
Yawn o’er the fate of infinite? What hand,
Beyond the blackest brand of censure bold,
(To speak a language too well known to thee),
Would at a moment give its all to chance, 695
And stamp the die for an eternity?
Aid me, Narcissa! aid me to keep pace
With Destiny; and ere her scissors cut