Through airy roads he wings his instant flight
Phillis Wheatley
O! for this dark terrestrial ball
SAMUEL, Chap. xvii.
Apollo's wrath to man the dreadful spring
NO more the flow'ry scenes of pleasure rife,
Ere yet the morn its lovely blushes spread,
A R I S E, my soul, on wings enraptur'd, rise
On Death's domain intent I fix my eyes,
O'erwhelming sorrow now demands my song:
GRIM monarch! see, depriv'd of vital breath,
WE trace the pow'r of Death from tomb to tomb,
WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade