With this, I pictured for him brightest life; And, like a blot on every scene, myself; I claim’d my character was not the one That best could aid his own; show’d how my sire, The priest, Doretta, all agreed in this. And then, in contrast with myself, I sketch’d A nature all deem’d fitted for his moods. I may have sinn’d in it; but, grim as fate, My father’s face, recall’d, would urge me on; I noted all Doretta’s nobler traits; And when I thought he must my aim surmise, And while he held his gaze upon the floor, As though he gave assent, at last I spake Doretta’s name. And if the solid earth Had quaked, he had not started more. O God, Why did I not accept his instinct then! He look’d at me, first pale, then flush’d, then firm; And then with tremulous, painful breath, he said:— “And this device from you? from you, so pure? So free from guile? You should have spared me this. That Jesuit has train’d you well! Ah, now, I know how Adam grieved that Eve could fall; How Eve herself, when round her soul first crept The serpent’s cautious coils of smooth deceit, To strap her inch by inch! I read it now, That tale: ’tis all an allegory, ay;— That serpent means the world. The world steals round, Intent to seize and own each heir of heaven. Not long are souls allow’d ideal life, Not long unfetter’d sense or hearts unbound: Our smiles grow stiffer, till, some fatal day, The last is clutch’d and held, a hideous grin. Then, when the body stirs not with the soul, The last nerve wrested from the Spirit’s rule, Naught in us left of love, the world unwinds: Our capturer dissolves in mist or dust:— And we, for its embrace, have lost our God!” LI.