"The rainbow sometimes, in its beautiful state, Enamelled the mansion around; And the figures that fancy in clouds can create Supplied me with gardens and ground. "I had grottos, and fountains, and orange-tree groves, I had all that enchantment has told; I had sweet shady walks for the gods and their loves, I had mountains of coral and gold. "But a storm that I felt not had risen and rolled, While wrapped in a slumber I lay; And when I looked out in the morning, behold, My Castle was carried away. "It passed over rivers and valleys and groves, The world it was all in my view; I thought of my friends, of their fates, of their loves, And often, full often, of you. "At length it came over a beautiful scene, That nature in silence had made; The place was but small, but't was sweetly serene, And chequered with sunshine and shade. "I gazed and I envied with painful good will, And grew tired of my seat in the air; When all of a sudden my Castle stood still, As if some attraction were there. "Like a lark from the sky it came fluttering down, And placed me exactly in view, When whom should I meet in this charming retreat This corner of calmness, but--you. "Delighted to find you in honour and ease, I felt no more sorrow nor pain; But the wind coming fair, I ascended the breeze, And went back with my Castle again." Paine was now a happy man. The kindness that rescued him from death was followed by the friendship that beguiled him from horrors of the past. From gentle ladies he learned that beyond the Age of Reason lay the forces that defeat Giant Despair. "To reason [so he writes to Lady Smith] against feelings is as vain as to reason against fire: it serves only to torture the torture, by adding reproach to horror. All reasoning with ourselves in such cases acts upon us like the reasoning of another person, which, however kindly done, serves but to insult the misery we suffer. If Reason could remove the pain, Reason would have prevented it. If she could not do the one, how is she to perform the other? In all such cases we must look upon Reason as dispossessed of her empire, by a revolt of the mind. She retires to a distance to weep, and the ebony sceptre of Despair rules alone. All that Reason can do is to suggest, to hint a thought, to signify a wish, to cast now and then a kind of bewailing look, to hold up, when she can catch the eye, the miniature shaded portrait of Hope; and though dethroned, and can dictate no more, to wait upon us in the humble station of a handmaid." The mouth of the rescued and restored captive was filled with song. Several little poems were circulated among his friends, but not printed; among them the following: