If with it comes no memory
To guide us, as we go?

If o'er the dark, prenatal void
No mental bridge be cast,
No thread, however frail, to link
The present to the past?

Still silent and dispassionate!
Ah, would that I might find
The key to the serenity
That fills thy lofty mind!

Thou hast a joy we do not feel,
A light we cannot see;
Injustice, sin, and wretchedness
No longer sadden thee;

No doubt to thy sublimer gaze
Life's mystery grows plain,
As finally full recompense
Atones for earthly pain.




THE PILLARS OF HERCULES

Here ends at last the Inland Sea!
Still seems its outlet, as of yore,