himself. Into the deeps and yawning spaces of it he plunges; blind, he sees
what men have never seen; deaf, he hears what men have never heard--singer
he is, prophet and poet and maker. New worlds leap into being in the
infinite fulness of his heart, visions of endless glory that make his
senses reel; as a column of incense towering to the sky is the ecstasy of
his adoration and his joy.

* * * * *

And so the long years roll by; and the unconquered spirit has left the
earth: left time and space and self, and dwells where never man has dwelt
before. And then one day the door of the dungeon is opened, and his chains
are shattered, and the slaves lead him up to the light of day.

It is the banquet-hall; and there is the tyrant, and there the
guests--there is the world.

* * * * *

He is aged, and weak, and white, and terrible. They stare at him; and he
stares at them, for he is dazed. They begin to mock at him, and then at
last he realizes, and he covers his face and weeps--beholding the world,
and the way that it must come. They jeer at him, they strike him; and when
he answers not, they call to the slaves to torture him.

* * * * *

This man has lived for ten years with _himself_. He is nothing but a
will. And now they will conquer him!