And face man's latter fall.
Events, they make the dreamers quail;
Satan's old age is strong and hale,
A disciplined captain, gray in skill,
And Raphael a white enthusiast still;
Dashed aims, at which Christ's martyrs pale,
Shall Mammon's slaves fulfill?

(_Dismantle the fort,
Cut down the fleet--
Battle no more shall be!
While the fields for fight in æons to come
Congeal beneath the sea._)

The terrors of truth and dart of death
To faith alike are vain;
Though comets, gone a thousand years,
Return again,
Patient she stands--she can no more--
And waits, nor heeds she waxes hoar.

(_At a stony gate,
A statue of stone,
Weed overgrown--
Long 'twill wait!_)

But God his former mind retains,
Confirms his old decree;
The generations are inured to pains,
And strong Necessity