For who would lose, Though full of pain this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallowd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night?
With grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemd A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven Deliberation sat, and public care; And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic though in ruin: sage he stood, With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summers noontide air.