Like mere rills where the sun-pillar’d Truth is enshrined
Where those broad-rolling rivers no longer may sweep
With their billows of light to the Ocean of Mind.
It was a clime where mortal form
Hath never pressed the blasted soil—
Where tempest-fires and surging storm
Are struggling ever in their coil:
A sunless clime, whose dreary night
Gleams dimly with that doubtful light
Which men have seen—when Darkness threw