He deem’d it virtue to fulfil,
And triumph’d, when the palm was won,
For duty’s task austerely done.
But a feeling dread and undefined,
A mystic presage of the mind,
With strange and sudden impulse ran
Chill through the heart of the dying man;
And his thoughts found voice, and his bosom breath,
And it seem’d as fear suspended death,
And nature from her terrors drew