University of Virginia Library

I.

Pondering on Amo's questions, while the Maid
So lightly slumbered, lulled in noontide rest
So still, the golden spots that flecked its shade
Moved only with her moving half-hid breast,
Perplexed and doubtful Ranolf lay.
“What must I teach her? how impress
This pliant Spirit's willingness?

130

On this unlettered Soul so white
What characters am I to write?
What truths in sooth have I to tell
To one whose native instincts might,
For aught I know, teach me as well?—
For I know nothing; could but play
With some results our Sages say
Are truths—and let them take their way.
Where are we? let us run again
O'er what of old seemed clear and plain.
With nothing else have we to do
But what we know or feel is true.”—
His train of thought we cannot far pursue:
How the old grounds for hopeful faith—some few
And intellectual mainly, from the mass
Too vast for swift reviewal, he ran through.
All but some slight analogies we pass;
Themselves but shadows in a darkling glass;
Faint inklings of itself—imperfect hints
On Finite Mind the Infinite imprints.