The frown of hideous darkness, calls his sons
From their long slumber; from earth’s heaving womb,
To second birth! contemporary throng!
Roused at one call, upstarted from one bed,
Press’d in one crowd, appall’d with one amaze,
He turns them o’er, Eternity! to thee.
Then (as a king deposed disdains to live)
He falls on his own scythe; nor falls alone:
His greatest foe falls with him; Time, and he
Who murder’d all Time’s offspring, Death, expire. 310