XXX

Steed of my soul! when you and I were young
We lived to cleave as arrows thro' the night,--
Now there is ta'en from me the last of light,
And wheresoe'er I gaze a veil is hung.


XXXI

No longer as a wreck shall I be hurled
Where beacons lure the fascinated helm,
For I have been admitted to the realm
Of darkness that encompasses the world.


XXXII

Man has been thought superior to the swarm
Of ruminating cows, of witless foals
Who, crouching when the voice of thunder rolls,
Are banqueted upon a thunderstorm.


XXXIII

But shall the fearing eyes of humankind
Have peeped beyond the curtain and excel
The boldness of a wondering gazelle