But this is past; and nought remains, That raised thee o'er the brute. Thy piercing shrieks, and soothing strains, Are like, forever mute. Now fare thee well — more thou the cause, Than subject now of woe. All mental pangs, by time's kind laws, Hast lost the power to know. O death! Thou awe-inspiring prince, That keepst the world in fear; Why dost thou tear more blest ones hence, And leave him ling'ring here?