But Properties are God: the naked mass (If mass there be, fantastic guess or ghost) Acts only by its inactivity. Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think That as one body seems the aggregate 40 Of atoms numberless, each organized; So by a strange and dim similitude Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds Are one all-conscious Spirit, which informs With absolute ubiquity of thought 45 (His one eternal self-affirming act!) All his involvéd Monads, that yet seem With various province and apt agency Each to pursue its own self-centering end. Some nurse the infant diamond in the mine; 50 Some roll the genial juices through the oak; Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in air, And rushing on the storm with whirlwind speed, Yoke the red lightnings to their volleying car. Thus these pursue their never-varying course, 55 No eddy in their stream. Others, more wild, With complex interests weaving human fates, Duteous or proud, alike obedient all, Evolve the process of eternal good. And what if some rebellious, o'er dark realms 60 Arrogate power? yet these train up to God, And on the rude eye, unconfirmed for day, Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom. As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapoury head The Laplander beholds the far-off Sun 65 Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows, While yet the stern and solitary Night Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Morn With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam. Guiding his course or by Niemi lake 70 Or Balda Zhiok,[133:1] or the mossy stone Of Solfar-kapper,[133:2] while the snowy blast Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge, Making the poor babe at its mother's back[134:1] Scream in its scanty cradle: he the while 75 Wins gentle solace as with upward eye He marks the streamy banners of the North, Thinking himself those happy spirits shall join Who there in floating robes of rosy light Dance sportively. For Fancy is the power 80 That first unsensualises the dark mind, Giving it new delights; and bids it swell With wild activity; and peopling air, By obscure fears of Beings invisible, Emancipates it from the grosser thrall 85 Of the present impulse, teaching Self-control, Till Superstition with unconscious hand Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not vain, Nor yet without permitted power impressed, I deem those legends terrible, with which 90 The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng: Whether of pitying Spirits that make their moan O'er slaughter'd infants, or that Giant Bird Vuokho, of whose rushing wings the noise Is Tempest, when the unutterable Shape 95