The icy Northern creeps from reach to reach
And curdles motion and with thrilling spell
Fixes the falling ripple. ‘Peace and quell,’
He said, ‘the action not maturèd well.
What scorn to build with labour, round on round,
And lay the costly marbles, when ’tis found
The whole design at last inapt, unsound!
Beware the bitter moment when awake
We view the mischief that our visions make—
The good things broken in a mad mistake.