XVI

"How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and toad; Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell How he was found, cold as an icicle, Under an arch of that forlorn abode; Where he, unpropp'd, and by the gathering flood Of years hemm'd round, had dwelt, prepared to try Privation's worst extremities, and die With no one near save the omnipresent God. Verily so to live was an awful choice— A choice that wears the aspect of a doom; But in the mould of mercy all is cast For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice; And this forgotten Taper to the last Drove from itself, we trust, all frightful gloom.