XXXI

A phantom among men; companionless

      As the last cloud of an expiring storm

      Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,

      Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness,

      Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray

      With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness,

      And his own thoughts, along that rugged way,

Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.