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10
LEWESDON HILL.
Eludes the sense, and fools our honest faith,Vanishing in a lie. If this be so,Were it not better to be born a beast,Only to feel what is, and thus to scapeThe aguish fear that shakes the afflicted breastWith sore anxiety of what shall be;And all for nought? Since our most wicked actIs not our sin, and our religious aweDelusion; if that strong NecessityChains up our will. But that the mind is free,The Mind herself, best judge of her own state,Is feelingly convinced; nor to be movedBy subtle words, that may perplex the head,But ne'er persuade the heart. Vain Argument,That with false weapons of PhilosophyFights against Hope, and Sense, and Nature's strength!
See how the Sun, here clouded, afar offPours down the golden radiance of his lightUpon the enridged sea; where the black shipSails on the phosphor-seeming waves. So fair,But falsely-flattering, was yon surface calm,

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