19. 
’"Disguise it not—­we have one human heart—­
All mortal thoughts confess a common home: 
Blush not for what may to thyself impart
Stains of inevitable crime:  the doom
Is this, which has, or may, or must become 3365
Thine, and all humankind’s.  Ye are the spoil
Which Time thus marks for the devouring tomb—­
Thou and thy thoughts and they, and all the toil
Wherewith ye twine the rings of life’s perpetual coil.

20. 
’"Disguise it not—­ye blush for what ye hate, 3370
And Enmity is sister unto Shame;
Look on your mind—­it is the book of fate—­
Ah! it is dark with many a blazoned name
Of misery—­all are mirrors of the same;
But the dark fiend who with his iron pen 3375
Dipped in scorn’s fiery poison, makes his fame
Enduring there, would o’er the heads of men
Pass harmless, if they scorned to make their hearts his den.

21. 
’"Yes, it is Hate, that shapeless fiendly thing
Of many names, all evil, some divine, 3380
Whom self-contempt arms with a mortal sting;
Which, when the heart its snaky folds entwine
Is wasted quite, and when it doth repine
To gorge such bitter prey, on all beside
It turns with ninefold rage, as with its twine 3385
When Amphisbaena some fair bird has tied,
Soon o’er the putrid mass he threats on every side.

22. 
’"Reproach not thine own soul, but know thyself,
Nor hate another’s crime, nor loathe thine own. 
It is the dark idolatry of self, 3390
Which, when our thoughts and actions once are gone,
Demands that man should weep, and bleed, and groan;
Oh, vacant expiation!  Be at rest.—­
The past is Death’s, the future is thine own;
And love and joy can make the foulest breast 3395
A paradise of flowers, where peace might build her nest.

23. 
’"Speak thou! whence come ye?”—­A Youth made reply: 
“Wearily, wearily o’er the boundless deep
We sail;—­thou readest well the misery
Told in these faded eyes, but much doth sleep 3400
Within, which there the poor heart loves to keep,
Or dare not write on the dishonoured brow;
Even from our childhood have we learned to steep
The bread of slavery in the tears of woe,
And never dreamed of hope or refuge until now. 3405

24. 
’"Yes—­I must speak—­my secret should have perished
Even with the heart it wasted, as a brand
Fades in the dying flame whose life it cherished,
But that no human bosom can withstand
Thee, wondrous Lady, and the mild command 3410
Of thy keen eyes:—­yes, we are wretched slaves,
Who from their wonted loves and native land
Are reft, and bear o’er the dividing waves
The unregarded prey of calm and happy graves.