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All this was hid from me: as one by one
My dreams grew dim, my wide aims circumscribed,
As actual good within my reach decreased,
While obstacles sprung up this way and that
To keep me from effecting half the sum,
Small as it proved; as objects, mean within
The primal aggregate, seemed, even the least,
Itself a match for my concentred strength-
What wonder if I saw no way to shun

Despair? The power I sought for man, seemed God's.
In this conjuncture, as I prayed to die,

A strange adventure made me know, one sin
Had spotted my career from its uprise;
I saw Aprile-my Aprile there!

And as the poor melodious wretch disburthened
His heart, and moaned his weakness in my ear,
I learned my own deep error; love's undoing
Taught me the worth of love in man's estate,
And what proportion love should hold with power
In his right constitution; love preceding

Power, and with much power, always much more love;
Love still too straitened in his present means,

And earnest for new power to set love free.

I learned this, and supposed the whole was learned:
And thus, when men received with stupid wonder
My first revealings, would have worshipped me,
And I despised and loathed their proffered praise—
When, with awakened eyes, they took revenge
For past credulity in casting shame

On my real knowledge, and I hated them-
It was not strange I saw no good in man,
To overbalance all the wear and waste
Of faculties, displayed in vain, but born

To prosper in some better sphere: and why?
In my own heart love had not been made wise
To trace love's faint beginnings in mankind,
To know even hate is but a mask of love's,
To see a good in evil, and a hope

In ill-success; to sympathize, be proud
Of their half-reasons, faint aspirings, dim
Struggles for truth, their poorest fallacies,
Their prejudice and fears and cares and doubts;
All with a touch of nobleness, despite

Their error, upward tending all though weak,
Like plants in mines which never saw the sun,
But dream of him, and guess where he may be,
And do their best to climb and get to him.
All this I knew not, and I failed. Let men
Regard me, and the poet dead long ago
Who loved too rashly; and shape forth a third
And better-tempered spirit, warned by both:
As from the over-radiant star too mad

To drink the life-springs, beamless thence itself—
And the dark orb which borders the abyss,
Ingulfed in icy night,-might have its course
A temperate and equidistant world.

Meanwhile, I have done well, though not all well.
As yet men cannot do without contempt;
'T is for their good, and therefore fit awhile
That they reject the weak, and scorn the false,
Rather than praise the strong and true, in me:
But after, they will know me.
If I stoop
Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud,
It is but for a time; I press God's lamp
Close to my breast; its splendour, soon or late,
Will pierce the gloom: I shall emerge one day.

You understand me? I have said enough?
Fest. Now die, dear Aureole!


Festus, let my hand

This hand, lie in your own, my own true friend!
Aprile! Hand in hand with you, Aprile!

Fest. And this was Paracelsus!


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