Too true he spake, for of the countless threads, Drawn from the heap, as white as unsunn’d snow, Or as the lovely lilly of the vale, Was never one beyond the little span Of infancy untainted: few there were But lightly tinged; more of deep crimson hue, Or deeper sable died.[4] Two Genii stood, Still as the web of Being was drawn forth, Sprinkling their powerful drops. From ebon urn, The one unsparing dash’d the bitter wave Of woe; and as he dash’d, his dark-brown brow Relax’d to a hard smile. The milder form Shed less profusely there his lesser store; Sometimes with tears increasing the scant boon, Mourning the lot of man; and happy he Who on his thread those precious drops receives; If it be happiness to have the pulse Throb fast with pity, and in such a world Of wretchedness, the generous heart that aches With anguish at the sight of human woe. To her the Fiend, well hoping now success, “This is thy thread! observe how short the span, And see how copious yonder Genius pours The bitter stream of woe.” The Maiden saw Fearless. “Now gaze!” the tempter Fiend exclaim’d, And placed again the poniard in her hand, For Superstition, with sulphureal torch Stalk’d to the loom. “This, Damsel, is thy fate! The hour draws on—now drench the dagger deep! Now rush to happier worlds!” The Maid replied, “Or to prevent or change the will of Heaven, Impious I strive not: be that will perform’d!” [1] May says of Serapis, “Erudit at placide humanam per somnia mentem, Nocturnâque quiete docet; nulloque labore Hic tantum parta est pretiosa scientia, nullo Excutitur studio verum. Mortalia corda Tunc Deus iste docet, cum sunt minus apta doceri, Cum nullum obsequium præstant, meritisque fatentur Nil sese debere suis; tunc recta scientes Cum nil scire valent. Non illo tempore sensus Humanos forsan dignatur numen inire, Cum propriis possunt per se discursibus uti, Ne forte humanâ ratio divina coiret.”—_Sup Lucani_. [2] I have met with a singular tale to illustrate this spiritual theory of dreams.