The strong engine is never before you, sighing all night,
with the white cloud above the chimney-shaft, escaping like the
spirits Solomon put his seal upon, in the Arabian Tales; these
mightier spirits are bound in a faster vessel; and then let forth, as
of little worth, when their work is done.
The Earth shakes under you, from the footfall of the Genii man has
made, and you groan about the noise. Vast roads draw together the
Earth, and you say how they spoil the prospect, which you never cared
a farthing about before.
You revel in Geology: but in chemistry, the modern science,
possessing thousands of powers as great as any used yet, you see no
glory:--the only thought is so many Acids and Alkalies. You require a
metaphor for treachery, and of course you think of our puny old
friend the Viper; but the Alkaline, more searching and more unknown,
that may destroy you and your race, you have never heard of,--and yet
this possesses more of the very quality required, namely, mystery,
than any other that is in your hands.
The only ancient character you have retained in its proper force is
Love; but you seem never to see any light about the results of long
labour of mind, the most intense Love. Devotedness, magnanimity,
generosity, you seem to think have left the Earth since the Crusades.
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