'Tis but a case of mania--subinduced By epilepsy, at the turning-point Of trance prolonged unduly some three days. When, by the exhibition of some drug Or spell, exorcisation, stroke of art Unknown to me and which 'twere well to know, The evil thing out-breaking all at once Left the man whole and sound of body indeed,-- But, flinging, so to speak, life's gates too wide, Making a clear house of it too suddenly, The first conceit that entered pleased to write Whatever it was minded on the wall So plainly at that vantage, as it were (First come, first served), that nothing subsequent Attaineth to erase the fancy-scrawls Which the returned and new-established soul Hath gotten now so thoroughly by heart That henceforth she will read or these or none. And first--the man's own firm conviction rests That he was dead (in fact they buried him), That he was dead and then restored to life By a Nazarene physician of his tribe: --Sayeth, the same bade, "Rise," and he did rise. "Such cases are diurnal," thou wilt cry. Not so this figment!--not, that such a fume, Instead of giving way to time and health, Should eat itself into the life of life, As saffron tingeth flesh, blood, bones and all! For see, how he takes up the after-life. The man--it is one Lazarus, a Jew, Sanguine, proportioned, fifty years of age, The body's habit wholly laudable, As much, indeed, beyond the common health As he were made and put aside to show. Think, could we penetrate by any drug And bathe the wearied soul and worried flesh, And bring it clear and fair, by three days' sleep! Whence has the man the balm that brightens all? This grown man eyes the world now like a child. Some elders of his tribe, I should premise, Let in their friend, obedient as a sheep, To bear my inquisition. While they spoke, Now sharply, now with sorrow,--told the case,-- He listened not except I spoke to him, But folded his two hands and let them talk, Watching the flies that buzzed: and yet no fool. And that's a sample how his years must go. Look if a beggar, in fixed middle-life, Should find a treasure, can he use the same With straightened habits and with tastes starved small, And take at once to his impoverished brain The sudden element that changes things, --That sets the undreamed-of rapture at his hand, And puts the cheap old joy in the scorned dust? Is he not such an one as moves to mirth, Warily parsimonious, when's no need, Wasteful as drunkenness at undue times? All prudent counsel, as to what befits The golden mean, is lost on such an one. The man's fantastic will is the man's law. So here--we'll call the treasure knowledge, say-- Increased beyond the fleshy faculty-- Heaven opened to a soul while yet on earth, Earth forced on a soul's use while seeing Heaven. The man is witless of the size, the sum, The value in proportion of all things,