Wallenstein (in soliloquy).  Is it possible? 
  Is’t so?  I can no longer what I would! 
  No longer draw back at my liking!  I
  Must do the deed, because I thought of it,
  And fed this heart here with a dream!  Because
  I did not scowl temptation from my presence,
  Dallied with thought of possible fulfilment,
  Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain,
  And only kept the road, the access open! 
  By the great God of Heaven!  It was not
  My serious meaning, it was ne’er resolve. 
  I but amused myself with thinking of it. 
  The free-will tempted me, the power to do
  Or not to do it.—­Was it criminal
  To make the fancy minister to hope,
  To fill the air with pretty toys of air,
  And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t’ward me? 
  Was not the will kept free?  Beheld I not
  The road of duty clear beside me—­but
  One little step and once more I was in it! 
  Where am I?  Whither have I been transported? 
  No road, no track behind one, but a wall,
  Impenetrable, insurmountable,
  Rises obedient to the spells I muttered
  And meant not—­my own doings tower behind me.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

* * * * *

EASY TO DRIFT.

  Easy to drift to the open sea,
  The tides are eager and swift and strong,
  And whistling and free are the rushing winds,—­
  But O, to get back is hard and long.

  Easy as told in Arabian tale,
  To free from his jar the evil sprite
  Till he rises like smoke to stupendous size,—­
  But O, nevermore can we prison him tight.

  Easy as told in an English tale,
  To fashion a Frankenstein, body and soul,
  And breathe in his bosom a breath of life,—­
  But O, we create what we cannot control.

  Easy to drift to the sea of doubt,
  Easy to hurt what we cannot heal,
  Easy to rouse what we cannot soothe,
  Easy to speak what we do not feel,
  Easy to show what we ought to conceal,
  Easy to think that fancy is fate,—­
  And O, the wisdom that comes too late!

OLIVER HUCKEL.

* * * * *

FRANKFORD’S SOLILOQUY.

FROM “A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS”

O God!  O God! that it were possible
To undo things done; to call back yesterday! 
That time could turn up his swift sandy glass,
To untell the days, and to redeem these hours! 
Or that the sun
Could, rising from the West, draw his coach backward,—­
Take from the account of time so many minutes. 
Till he had all these seasons called again,
These minutes and these actions done in them.

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

* * * * *

CONSCIENCE.

    FROM SATIRE XIII.