For this, all pleasure am I foregoing;
I do not pretend to aught worth knowing,
I do not pretend I could be a teacher
To help or convert a fellow-creature. 
Then, too, I’ve neither lands nor gold,
Nor the world’s least pomp or honor hold—­
No dog would endure such a curst existence! 
Wherefore, from Magic I seek assistance,
That many a secret perchance I reach
Through spirit-power and spirit-speech,
And thus the bitter task forego
Of saying the things I do not know,—­
That I may detect the inmost force
Which binds the world, and guides its course;
Its germs, productive powers explore,
And rummage in empty words no more!

O full and splendid Moon, whom I
Have, from this desk, seen climb the sky
So many a midnight,—­would thy glow
For the last time beheld my woe! 
Ever thine eye, most mournful friend,
O’er books and papers saw me bend;
But would that I, on mountains grand,
Amid thy blessed light could stand,
With spirits through mountain-caverns hover,
Float in thy twilight the meadows over,
And, freed from the fumes of lore that swathe me,
To health in thy dewy fountains bathe me!

Ah, me! this dungeon still I see. 
This drear, accursed masonry,
Where even the welcome daylight strains
But duskly through the painted panes. 
Hemmed in by many a toppling heap
Of books worm-eaten, gray with dust,
Which to the vaulted ceiling creep,
Against the smoky paper thrust,—­
With glasses, boxes, round me stacked,
And instruments together hurled,
Ancestral lumber, stuffed and packed—­
Such is my world:  and what a world!

And do I ask, wherefore my heart
Falters, oppressed with unknown needs? 
Why some inexplicable smart
All movement of my life impedes? 
Alas! in living Nature’s stead,
Where God His human creature set,
In smoke and mould the fleshless dead
And bones of beasts surround me yet!

Fly!  Up, and seek the broad, free land! 
And this one Book of Mystery
From Nostradamus’ very hand,
Is’t not sufficient company? 
When I the starry courses know,
And Nature’s wise instruction seek,
With light of power my soul shall glow,
As when to spirits spirits speak. 
Tis vain, this empty brooding here,
Though guessed the holy symbols be: 
Ye, Spirits, come—­ye hover near—­
Oh, if you hear me, answer me!

(He opens the Book, and perceives the sign of the Macrocosm.)

Ha! what a sudden rapture leaps from this
I view, through all my senses swiftly flowing! 
I feel a youthful, holy, vital bliss
In every vein and fibre newly glowing. 
Was it a God, who traced this sign,
With calm across my tumult stealing,
My troubled heart to joy unsealing,
With impulse, mystic and divine,
The powers of Nature here, around my path, revealing? 
Am I a God?—­so clear mine eyes! 
In these pure features I behold
Creative Nature to my soul unfold. 
What says the sage, now first I recognize: 
“The spirit-world no closures fasten;
Thy sense is shut, thy heart is dead: 
Disciple, up! untiring, hasten
To bathe thy breast in morning-red!”