Yet, as the needle will forget its aim,
Jarred by the fury of the electric flame,
As the true current it will falsely feel
Warped from its axis by a freight of steel;
So will thy Conscience lose its balanced truth,
If passion’s lightning fall upon its youth;
So the pure effluence quit its sacred hold,
Girt round too deeply with magnetic gold.
Go to yon town where busy science plies
Her vast antennæ, feeling through the skies,—