Will my grave be more dark, than all is now ?-- From dark to dark!--What is this subtle something that is in me, and eludes me?
Will it have no end?
When, then, did it begin?
All, all is chaos! What is this shining light in heaven, this sun they tell me of?
Or, do they lie?
Methinks, it might blaze convictions; but I brood and grope in blackness; I am dumb with doubt; yet, 'tis not doubt, but worse: I doubt my doubt.

Oh, ye all-wise spirits in the air, how can ye witness all this woe, and give no sign?
Would, would that mine were a settled doubt, like that wild boy's, who without faith, seems full of it.

The undoubting doubter believes the most.

Oh! that I were he.
Methinks that daring boy hath Alma in him, struggling to be free.

But those pilgrims: that trusting girl .-- What, if they saw me as I am?
Peace, peace, my soul; on, mask, again." And he staggered from the Morai..