O! there is glory in the thought that now

I stand absolved from all the chilling forms

And falsities of life, that like frail reeds

Pierce the blind palms of those that lean on them,

And from the springs of my own being draw

All strength, and hope, and joyance, all that makes

Lone meditations sweet, and schools the heart

For prophecy. In the o'erpeopled world

We seem like babes that cannot walk alone,

But fasten on the skirts of other men,

Their creeds, conclusions, and vain phantasies,

[Pg 3]

Too languid, or too weak to poize ourselves;

But here the crutch is shattered at a blow,

Dependence made a thing for winds to blast,

And paraphrase in bitter mockery.

From this retreat, as from a cloister calm,

I dream upon the busy haunts of men

As things that touch me not. An empire riven,

A monarchy o'erthrown, here seem to me

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