Mystery! thou subtile essence!—Ages gain
New light from darkness; still thy blanks remain;
And Reason tries to chace old Night from thee.
When Chaos fled, thy parent took the key,
Blank Darkness; and the things Age left behind
Are locked for aye in thy unspeaking mind.
Towers, temples, ruins, on and under ground,
So old—so dark—so mystic—so profound—
Old Time, himself so old, is like a child,
And can't remember when these blocks were piled,
Or caverns scooped; and with amazed eye
He seems to pause, like other standers-by,
Half thinking, that the wonders left unknown
Were born in ages older than his own.