When, as I sat revolving it and more,

A still voice from without said-" Seest thou not, "Desponding child, whence spring defeat and loss? "Even from thy strength. Consider: hast thou gazed "Presumptuously on wisdom's countenance,

"No veil between; and can thy faltering hands, "Unguided by the brain the sight absorbs,

"Pursue their task as earnest blinkers do

"Whom radiance ne'er distracted? Live their life "If thou wouldst share their fortune, choose their eyes "Unfed by splendour. Let each task present

"Its petty good to thee.

Waste not thy gifts

"In profitless waiting for the gods' descent, "But have some idol of thine own to dress

"With their array. Know, not for knowing's sake,
"But to become a star to men for ever;

"Know, for the gain it gets, the praise it brings,
"The wonder it inspires, the love it breeds:
"Look one step onward, and secure that step!"
And I smiled as one never smiles but once,
Then first discovering my own aim's extent,
Which sought to comprehend the works of God,
And God himself, and all God's intercourse
With the human mind; I understood, no less,
My fellows' studies, whose true worth I saw,
But smiled not, well aware who stood by me.

And softer came the voice-"There is a way:
""T is hard for flesh to tread therein, imbued
"With frailty-hopeless, if indulgence first
"Have ripened inborn germs of sin to strength :
"Wilt thou adventure for my sake and man's,

Apart from all reward?" And last it breathed"Be happy, my good soldier; I am by thee, "Be sure, even to the end!"-I answered not, Knowing him. As he spoke, I was endued With comprehension and a steadfast will;

And when he ceased, my brow was sealed his own.
If there took place no special change in me,
How comes it all things wore a different hue
Thenceforward?—pregnant with vast consequence,
Teeming with grand result, loaded with fate?
So that when, quailing at the mighty range
Of secret truths which yearn for birth, I haste
To contemplate undazzled some one truth,
Its bearings and effects alone—at once
What was a speck expands into a star,
Asking a life to pass exploring thus,
Till I near craze. I go to prove my soul!
I see my way as birds their trackless way.
I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first,
I ask not: but unless God send his hail
Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,

In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:

This would hold

He guides me and the bird. In his good time!
Michal. Vex him no further, Festus; it is so!
Festus. Just thus you help me ever.
Were it the trackless air, and not a path
Inviting you, distinct with footprints yet
Of many a mighty marcher gone that way.
You may have purer views than theirs, perhaps,
But they were famous in their day—the proofs
Remain. At least accept the light they lend.

Paracelsus. Their light the sum of all is briefly this:
They laboured and grew famous, and the fruits
Are best seen in a dark and groaning earth

Given over to a blind and endless strife
With evils, what of all their lore abates?
No; I reject and spurn them utterly
And all they teach. Shall I still sit beside
Their dry wells, with a white lip and filmed eye,
While in the distance heaven is blue above
Mountains where sleep the unsunned tarns?
Festus.

As strong delusions have prevailed ere now.
Men have set out as gallantly to seek

Their ruin. I have heard of such yourself

Avow all hitherto have failed and fallen.

And yet

Michal. Nay, Festus, when but as the pilgrims faint

Through the drear way, do you expect to see
Their city dawn amid the clouds afar?

Paracelsus. Ay, sounds it not like some old well-known

tale?

For me, I estimate their works and them

So rightly, that at times I almost dream

I too have spent a life the sages' way,

And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance
I perished in an arrogant self-reliance

Ages ago; and in that act, a prayer

For one more chance went up so earnest, so
Instinct with better light let in by death,
That life was blotted out-not so completely
But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,
Dim memories, as now, when once more seems
The goal in sight again. All which, indeed,
Is foolish, and only means-the flesh I wear,
The earth I tread, are not more clear to me
Than my belief, explained to you or no.

Festus. And who am I, to challenge and dispute

That clear belief? I will divest all fear.

Michal. Then Aureole is God's commissary! he shall Be great and grand—and all for us!

Paracelsus.

No, sweet!

Not great and grand. If I can serve mankind 'T is well; but there our intercourse must end:

I never will be served by those I serve.

Festus. Look well to this; here is a plague-spot, here, Disguise it how you may! 'T is true, you utter

This scorn while by our side and loving us;

'T is but a spot as yet but it will break

Into a hideous blotch if overlooked.

How can that course be safe which from the first
Produces carelessness to human love?

It seems you have abjured the helps which men
Who overpass their kind, as you would do,
Have humbly sought; I dare not thoroughly probe
This matter, lest I learn too much. Let be
That popular praise would little instigate.
Your efforts, nor particular approval
Reward you; put reward aside; alone
You shall go forth upon your arduous task,
None shall assist you, none partake your toil,
None share your triumph: still you must retain
Some one to cast your glory on, to share
Your rapture with. Were I elect like you,

I would encircle me with love, and raise

A rampart of my fellows; it should seem
Impossible for me to fail, so watched

By gentle friends who made my cause their own.
They should ward off fate's envy-the great gift,
Extravagant when claimed by me alone,