There, in a moment, we may plunge our years ^v

In fatal penitence, and in the blight

Of our own Soul turn all our blood to tears,

And colour things to come with hues of Night;

The race of life becomes a hopeless flight

To those that walk in darkness: on the sea

The boldest steer but where their ports invite—

But there are wanderers o'er Eternity  ^{14   vi}

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall be.