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Gaunt, hollow-eaved, with overhanging rocks,
Is that grim gap; as stiffened were blown seas
Great rampant folding wave, to sudden stone.
Ray it, of heavens wide cheerful light receives,
Uneath, when Worlds clear Summer-day it is;
And night-time only of some malignant star.
Under that vault, gapes sullen salvage cave,

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To Hertha dedicate; who is Goddess both
Of líving World, ánd dread Tartarus beneath.
One of whose glooming caves, in Earths West half,
Is this den in hid cliff, which far-down reacheth;
To Underworlds.
Awhile with foot suspent;
I stood irresolúte, át that caverns mouth;
Where Mansoul I beheld, already arrived!
Not such, indeed, as had I seen him erst:
Since thousand souls, too fearful for that Quest,
Hath Mansoul shed. Nor few had fleshly death,
In the mean season, 'spersed. In him the rest,
Be flowed together, tó one Manlike being.
Calm is his port, his old complaining ceased;
As boisterous seas assuaged, late-frowning, face:
Whereon descended Angel is of Peace.
Seeing, this day, in proud humility, had Hertha Goddess;
To parley with Mansoul, Herself abased;
Gracing him, whom She taught, in this grim place;
Faith, Measure, Fortitude ánd Right-mindedness.