Late time must echo; worlds unborn resound.
We wish our names eternally to live:
Wild dream! which ne’er had haunted human thought,
Had not our natures been eternal too. 361
Instinct points out an interest in hereafter;
But our blind reason sees not where it lies;
Or, seeing, gives the substance for the shade.
Fame is the shade of immortality,
And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught,
Contemn’d; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.