“The world recedes—it disappears:
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring.
Lend, lend your wings; I mount, I fly!
Oh, grave, where is thy victory?
Oh, death, where is thy sting?”
They ceased, and looked upon the marble face before them. It was still in death, but there remained upon the countenance the impress of the ecstatic smile with which the spirit had taken its flight—
“Her death
Was like the setting of a planet mild.”