A mocking phantom,--fair as it is foul!
With naked arms, white breast, and ebon locks,
And big black eyes that dart the humid flame
Which sets the heart ablaze; and red moist lips,
And checks as spotless as the falling flake
Ere it has touched the earth, and supple form
Wherein is knit each grace of womanhood
In its perfection! and with wanton looks
That speak the burning language of desire,
It seems to woo its loathsome follower,--
Yet ever from his foul embraces flies.
And on his brow his name is written, "Lust!"
Dismiss the spectre, for it blasts my sight,
And sears my brain with its dark hideousness!

Spirit.

'Tis gone; look up and see what next appears.

Werner.

A frame which may be that of Hercules,
It hath such giant members! and its port
Is martial as e'er marked a Caesar's moving.
Its sandals are of brass, its massive brow
Is helmeted in steel, and in its hand
It bears a sword with which, in idle strokes,
It vainly beats the unresisting air,
As if in battle with some phantom foe;
And at each blow it deals, a strong fatality