Farewel, vain world! — Yet, ere I die, I'll find
Contentment's seat, unknown to guilt or sorrow;
Haste then, for nimble Death pursues me close,
Methinks I hear his steps, tho' trod in air;
My fluttering soul seems like a bird entrapp'd,
That beats his wings against the prison walls,
And fain wou'd be at liberty again;
And oft the death-watch with ill-boding beats
Hath warn'd me that my time wou'd soon expire,
And that life's thread, ne'er to be wound up more,
Wou'd by the spring of fate be quickly drawn
To its full stretch — Haste then, and let me find
A shelter, that may shut out noise and light,
Save one dim taper, whose neglected snuff,
Grown higher than the flame, shall with its bulk
Almost extinguish it; no noise be there,
But that of water, ever friend to thought.