XX.

And I, too, thought it well! That very morn From a far land I came, yet round me clung The spirit of my own. No hand had torn With a strong grasp away the veil which hung Between mine eyes and truth. I gazed, I saw Dimly, as through a glass. In silent awe I watch’d the fearful rites; and if there sprung One rebel feeling from its deep founts up, Shuddering, I flung it back, as guilt’s own poison-cup.