And there is a caged terror, evermore wrestling with the mind,
When crime hath whispered his confession, and the secrets are written there in blood:
The village maiden is elated at the tenderly confided tale:
The bandit's wife with sickening fear guessed the premeditated murder:
The sage, with triumph on his brow, hideth up his deep discovery;
The idlest clown shall delve all day, to find a hidden treasure.
For mystery is man's life; we wake to the whisperings of novelty:
And what, though we lie down disappointed? we sleep, to wake in hope.
The letter, or the news, the chances and the changes, matters that may happen,
Sweeten or embitter daily life with the honey-gall of mystery.