Throned, with his vassals slumbering by his side)
Its Counsellors are gone;—Perception's messengers
Lie mute before their Monarch,—whose mistake
Leads to such a labyrinth of errors,
That bright Aurora, with her threads of light,
Must be its Ariadne, or 'tis lost![13]
When the fleshy walls of this human citadel
Are in repose, or apparent slumber,—
Still the faithful sentinel of the brain,—
The Mind,—is watchful through all space and time!