IX.

His was the task and his the lordly gift Our eyes, our hearts, bent earthward, to uplift; He found us chained in Plato’s fabled cave, Our faces long averted from the blaze Of Heaven’s broad light, and idly turned to gaze On shadows, flitting ceaseless as the wave That dashes ever idly on some isle enchanted; By shadows haunted We sat,—amused in youth, in manhood daunted, In vacant age forlorn,—then slipped within the grave, The same dull chain still clasped around our shroud; These captives, bound and bowed, He from their dungeon like that angel led Who softly to imprisoned Peter said, “Arise up quickly! gird thyself and flee!” We wist not whose the thrilling voice, we knew our souls were free.