And brings us back where first she led us out,
To meet dark midnight at our restless inn.
It is a plummet to so short a line,
As sounds no deeper than the sounder’s eyes;
The people’s meteor, which not long can shine,
Nor far above the middle region rise.
This spy from Schools gets ill intelligence,
Where art, imposing rules, oft gravely errs;
She steals to nature’s closet, and from thence
Brings nought but undecyphered characters.