But here the root of this deep error lies.
The world’s deep Lethé onward blindly glides,
A perishable Present! glorious only
Because no Future and no Past are seen
To scare or shame its dreamy voyager.
In dull forgetfulness the error lies,
That hath no feeling of the mighty Past
Espoused to sense, and purblind as the mole
To all that meets the intellectual eye:
To such Iona is a heap of stones,