University of Virginia Library

Nor dreadful our transition; though the mind,
An artist at creating self-alarms,
Rich in expedients for inquietude,

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Is prone to paint it dreadful. Who can take
Death's portrait true? The tyrant never sat.
Our sketch all random strokes, conjecture all;
Close shuts the Grave, nor tells one single tale.
Death, and his image rising in the brain,
Bear faint resemblance; never are alike:
Fear shakes the pencil; Fancy loves excess;
Dark Ignorance is lavish of her shades:
And these the formidable picture draw.