Page:The New Penelope.djvu/278

72 Individual man is ever new created:

What his being's plan is, loosely predicated

On the circumstances of his sole condition,

Colored by the fancies borrowed from tradition.

His creation gives him clue to nothing older:

Naked, life receives him—wondering beholder

Of the world about him—and ere aught is certain,

Time and mystery flout him; and death drops the curtain.

Man, the dreamer, groping after what he should be,

Cheers himself with hoping to be what he would be:

When he hopes no longer, with self-adulation,

Fancies he was stronger at his first creation:

Else—in him inhering powers of intellection—

Death, by interfering with his mind's perfection,

Itself gives security to restore life's treasure,

Freed from all impurity and in endless measure.

Thou, O Nature, knowest, yet no word is spoken.

Time, that ever flowest, presses on unbroken:

All in vain the sages toil with proof and question—

The immemorial ages give no least suggestion.

PASSING BY HELICON.

My steps are turned away;

Yet my eyes linger still,

On their beloved hill,

In one long, last survey:

Gazing through tears that multiply the view,

Their passionate adieu!

O, joy-empurpled height,

Down whose enchanted sides

The rosy mist now glides,