127
Of former loves and interests. Then my Soul
Turned inward,—to examine of what stuff
Time's fetters are composed; and Life was put
To inquisition, long and profitless!
By pain of heart—now checked—and now impelled—
The intellectual Power, through words and things,
Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!
And from those transports, and these toils abstruse,
Some trace am I enabled to retain
Of time, else lost;—existing unto me
Only by records in myself not found.
From that abstraction I was rouzed,—and how?
Even as a thoughtful Shepherd by a flash
Of lightening startled in a gloomy cave
Of these wild hills. For, lo! the dread Bastile,
With all the chambers in its horrid Towers,
Fell to the ground:—by violence o'erthrown
Of indignation; and with shouts that drowned
The crash it made in falling! From the wreck
A golden Palace rose, or seemed to rise,
The appointed Seat of equitable Law
