Transmigration of Souls
Submitted by
pondersprudently on Thu, 04/17/2008 at 4:07pm.
Then death, so called, is but old matter dressed
In some new figure, and varied vest;
Thus all things are but altered, nothing dies;
And here and there the unbodied spirit flies,
By time, or force, or sickness dispossessed,
And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast;
Or hunts without, till ready limbs it finds,
And actuates those according to their kind;
From tenement to tenement is tossed,
The soul is still the same, the figure only lost;
And, as the softened wax seals receives,
The face assumes, and that impression leaves;
Now called by one, now by another name;
The form is only changed, the wax is still the same:
So death so called, can but the form deface . . .