XXIV.

Whether my bark went down at sea, Whether she met with gales, Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails;

By what mystic mooring She is held to-day, -- This is the errand of the eye Out upon the bay.

Belshazzar had a letter, -- He never had but one; Belshazzar's correspondent Concluded and begun In that immortal copy The conscience of us all Can read without its glasses On revelation's wall.