A land of levity is a land of guilt.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.

And all may do what has by man been done.

Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, "That all men are about to live."

The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.

Not all the pride of beauty; Those eyes, that tell us what the sun is made of; Those lips, whose touch is to be bought with life; Those hills of driven snow, which seen are felt: All these possessed are nought, but as they are The proof, the substance of an inward passion, And the rich plunder of a taken heart.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.