60 ciiildf, iiahoi/d’s pn-GniMAC 7 K.

Yes, this was once Ambition’s airy hall.

The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul:Behold through each Inch-lustre, eyeless hole.The gay recess of Wisdom and of WitAnd Passion’s host, that never brook’d control:Can'all, saint, sage, or sophist ever writ,^people this lonely tower, this tenement refit?

Y1I.

Well didst thou speak, Athena’s wisest son!« All that we know is, nothing can he known. *Why should we shrink from what we cannotshun P

Each lias his pang, hut feeble sufferers groanWith brain-born dreams of evil all their own.Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best;Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron:There no forc’d banquet claims the sated guest.But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest.

Yin.

Yet if, as holiest men have deem’d, there beA land of souls beyond that sable shore.

To shame the doctrine of the SadducceAnd sophists, madly vain of dubious lore;How sweet it were in concert to adoreW itli those who made our mortal labours light!To hear each voice wc fear’d to hear no more!