Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.

One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?