Alas! no
bird of beauty dips its wing in these dead waters, and plumes itself
for an aerial flight of love and joy. But the cold contraction
chains down all the freer, beautiful life, into a hopeless, chilling
inanity.
MIDNIGHT.--The gloom has gathered into a darkness that may be felt;
and seeing nothing, I would stretch forth my hands to feel if there
is anything within my mind to stay my soul upon. But, alas! in a
deep sorrow, how little do mental acquisitions avail! All the
beautiful systems and theories that delighted my intelligence, and
filled my thought in my noon of hope and life, have sunk into
darkness. How is this? Sometimes I think that all light comes
through the heart into the mind; and when love is quenched, behold,
there is only darkness; the beauty and life and joy are gone. Ah,
woe is me! Have I nothing left?--no internal resources--no wealth of
knowledge, with which to minister to this poverty of hope and life?
It cannot be that all past efforts, all struggles and
self-sacrifices, to attain this coveted and natural knowledge, were
useless, vain mockeries. I thought I should live by this knowledge;
that when the outer life palled upon me, I could then retire within
my own being to boundless stores of riches and beauty.
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