There was the warm, confiding soul of youth,
Here doubt and care, and cold assent to truth.
Oh, ’tis beyond repair, beyond dispute,
That flower of promise has this bitter fruit!
Oh, ’tis a dismal fruit! I prithee strive
For the old prospect—bid the dream revive. (O.M.)
Book XVI.
The Book opens:
The Brothers dwelt upon their favourite themes
Of ghosts, and spectres, demons, devils, dreams;