"When I would search the truths that in me burn, And mould them into rule and argument, A hundred reasoners cried,-'Hast thou to learn Those dreams are scatter'd now, those fires are spent?' And, did I mount to simpler thoughts, and try Some theme of peace, 'twas still the same reply. Perplex'd, I hoped my heart was pure of guile, But judged me weak in wit, to disagree; But now, I see that men are mad awhile, 'Tis the old history-Truth without a home, Despised and slain, then rising from the tomb."