That they must perish.  Tremblings of the heart
  It gives, to think that our immortal being
  No more shall need such garments; and yet man,
  As long as he shall be the child of earth, 25
  Might almost “weep to have” [A] what he may lose,
  Nor be himself extinguished, but survive,
  Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate. 
  A thought is with me sometimes, and I say,—­
  Should the whole frame of earth by inward throes 30
  Be wrenched, or fire come down from far to scorch
  Her pleasant habitations, and dry up
  Old Ocean, in his bed left singed and bare,
  Yet would the living Presence still subsist
  Victorious, and composure would ensue, 35
  And kindlings like the morning—­presage sure
  Of day returning and of life revived. [B]
  But all the meditations of mankind,
  Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth
  By reason built, or passion, which itself 40
  Is highest reason in a soul sublime;
  The consecrated works of Bard and Sage,
  Sensuous or intellectual, wrought by men,
  Twin labourers and heirs of the same hopes;
  Where would they be?  Oh! why hath not the Mind 45
  Some element to stamp her image on
  In nature somewhat nearer to her own? [C]
  Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad
  Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail?

    One day, when from my lips a like complaint 50
  Had fallen in presence of a studious friend,
  He with a smile made answer, that in truth
  ’Twas going far to seek disquietude;
  But on the front of his reproof confessed
  That he himself had oftentimes given way 55
  To kindred hauntings.  Whereupon I told,
  That once in the stillness of a summer’s noon,
  While I was seated in a rocky cave
  By the sea-side, perusing, so it chanced,
  The famous history of the errant knight 60
  Recorded by Cervantes, these same thoughts
  Beset me, and to height unusual rose,
  While listlessly I sate, and, having closed
  The book, had turned my eyes toward the wide sea. 
  On poetry and geometric truth, 65
  And their high privilege of lasting life,
  From all internal injury exempt,
  I mused, upon these chiefly:  and at length,
  My senses yielding to the sultry air,
  Sleep seized me, and I passed into a dream. 70
  I saw before me stretched a boundless plain
  Of sandy wilderness, all black and void,
  And as I looked around, distress and fear
  Came creeping over me, when at my side,
  Close at my side, an uncouth shape appeared 75
  Upon a dromedary, mounted high. 
  He seemed an Arab of the Bedouin tribes: