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A Spirit's Reply.
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Blest be the Poet's hand that toiled
To carve in lasting stone
The act that in all time hath foiled
Despair's terrific power, and spoiled
Destruction of his own.

Thus ever, from the vulgar day,
The Hero shades his eyes;
Peering through dim Obstruction's sway:—
Perchance, upon his darkened way
The cherished form may rise!

He sees her not! and what though low
Lies Cerberus overwrought,
His lyre hath quickened Lethe s flow,
Cast coolness o'er Cocytus' glow;
All this he heedeth not:

He only knows thou art not won—
The "perfect good and fair:"
The race of life is yet to run;
The only deed is yet undone;
The Hero still must dare.


A SPIRIT'S REPLY.

Thou who hast sought thy Light of Life
Through Hades' horrors black,
Hast charmed them all, and won thy quest,
And wouldst thy way retrack,—

Rest thou—as he of old did not—
Upon the promise fair,
That Beauty aye shall follow him
Who all for her will dare.

As thou didst count no bygone loss,
Count step by step no gain;
But trust that in the upper air
She'll be with thee again.