| Poems by Thomas Odiorne . | |
|
XVII.
He, self-bewilder'd mortal! who his view
Turns from meridian splendour, and, misled
By the pale meteor of the night through bogs
And upland mazes, meets some fatal brink,
Grasps at a phantom to prevent his fall:
But down, inevitably down he goes.
Through vain philosophy and boasted light,
A broader passage, and an easier way,
Than that which Inspiration has reveal'd,
He feigns to have discover'd, and, in pride
Of self-importance, his own reason makes
The test and standard of eternal right.
| Poems by Thomas Odiorne . | |
|