That vision, spurned by manhood's pride,
Came down from heaven to me no more,
And I was launched without a guide,
To be a wreck on passion's shore.
Alas! the giddy bark at sea,
'Mid waves that woo it down to death,
From helm and compass wafted free,
The toy of every tempest's breath,—
Is but a type of him who goes,
Trusting to nature, on the tide