I.

A cloud for years o’erhung the border-land, Black, ominous, wherein were dimly seen Soul-terrifying shapes of beasts unclean, And men uncleaner still, a hideous band, Loathsome as reptiles from the slimy strand Of vanished seas, in ages pliocene. Prophets the portent read with vision keen, But lying seers cried “Peace,” throughout the land, ’Tis but a cloud-bank changing with the wind, And craven hearts draw their own pictures there, And traitors sneered, and from the pulpit whined Sleek hypocrites, blind leaders of the blind, Buyers of souls, who gathered gold with care, With gnashing and blaspheming filled the air.