I fling away all these things as the Toys of Boyhood.

Life is the Soul's Nursery.

I am a Man, and pine for the Illimitable! Mark you me! Has the Morrow any terrors for me, think ye?
Did Socrates falter at his poison?
Did Seneca blench in his bath?
Did Brutus shirk the sword when his great stake was lost?
Did even weak Cleopatra shrink from the Serpent's fatal nip?
And why should I?
My great Hazard hath been played, and I pay my forfeit.
Lie sheathed in my heart, thou flashing Blade! Welcome to my Bosom, thou faithful Serpent; I hug thee, peace-bearing Image of the Eternal! Ha, the hemlock cup! Fill high, boy, for my soul is thirsty for the Infinite! Get ready the bath, friends; prepare me for the feast To-morrow--bathe my limbs in odors, and put ointment in my hair." "Has for a bath," Snoggin interposed, "they're not to be 'ad in this ward of the prison; but I dussay Hemmy will git you a little hoil for your 'air." The Prisoned One laughed loud and merrily.

"My guardian understands me not, pretty one--and thou?
what sayest thou?
From those dear lips methinks--plura sunt oscula quam sententiae--I kiss away thy tears, dove!--they will flow apace when I am gone, then they will dry, and presently these fair eyes will shine on another, as they have beamed on poor George Barnwell.

Yet wilt thou not all forget him, sweet one.