Do what he will, he cannot realise / Half he conceivesthe glorious vision flies; / Go where he may, he cannot hope to find / The truth, the beauty pictured in the mind.
Lulld in the countless chambers of the brain, / Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; / Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise! / Each stamps its image as the other flies.
That very law which moulds a tear, / And bids it trickle from its source; / That law preserves the earth a sphere, / And guides the planets in their course.