IV.
THE LAST WORDS OF SOCRATES.
“And now the parts about his heart were becoming cold,
when uncovering himself, for he had a mantle thrown over him,
he spake these words, which were the last that he uttered, ‘O
Crito,’ said he, ‘we owe a cock to Esculapius. Now repay
this, and see you neglect it not.’”
Phædon.
Thus Death spake out as from a sacred shrine,
Or from an haven where all sorrows cease.
With life he bore as with a long disease,
Resign'd to meet its ills with look benign,
And arguing, with presentiment divine,
That there may be in death a sure release,
To those who strive the Great Unseen to please
In ways of truth and godly discipline.
When now the poisonous draught 'gan to prevail
Upon his vitals, and to seize his breath
Mysteriously, as from an oracle,
Yet confidently he spake of Health in Death,
That hope's long cherish'd promise doth not fail,
But with the great Physician All is Well.
