Poured on that spirit half divine,
And making a single Isle of light
In the wide blank ocean of Pagan night;
Lament for him as you see him laid
Waiting for Death on the Dungeon bed,
The sickly lamp beside him burning,
Its dim ray falling on sorrow and gloom;
Around him his sad disciples mourning,
As they watch for the hour of awful doom;
And he, by coming death unshaken,