There all returns, and loos’d from earthly chain,
Fly whence they sprung, and rest in God again,
Spurn at the grave, and fearless of decay,
Live 'mid the host of heaven, and star th’ ethereal way.
* * * * *
If wintry dearth thy prescient fears create,
Or rouse thy pity for their ruin’d state;
With thymy odors scent their smoking halls,
And fill th’ unpeopled cells that load their walls.
There oft, unseen, dark newts insidious prey,