Orlando's helmet in Augustine's cowl.
Shakespeare, how true thine adage, 'fair is foul!'
To him whose soul is with fruition fraught,—
The song of Braham is an Irish howl,—
Thinking is but an idle waste of thought,
And nought is every thing, and every thing is nought.
IX.
Sons of Parnassus! whom I view above,
Not laurel-crown'd, but clad in rusty black;
Not spurring Pegasus through Tempè's grove,