THE bow of promise, this lost flaring star, br Terror and hope are in mid-heaven; but She, br The mighty-wing'd crown'd Lady Melancholy, br Heeds not. O to what vision'd goal afar br Does her thought bear those steadfast eyes which are br A torch in darkness? There nor shore nor sea, br Nor ebbing Time vexes Eternity, br Where that lone thought outsoars the mortal bar. br Tools of the brain--the globe, the cube--no more br She deals with; in her hand the compass stays; br Nor those, industrious genius, of her lore br Student and scribe, thou gravest of the fays, br Expect this secret to enlarge thy store; br She moves through incommunicable ways.