Songs of the Spirit

THE ALCHEMIST. THIS POEM WAS INTENDED AS THE PROLOGUE TO A PLAY—AT PRESENT UNFINISHED. An old tower, very loft, on a small and rocky islet. In the highest chamber a man of some forty years, but silver-haired, looks out of the window. Clear starry night, no moon. Chamber furnished with books, alchemic instruments, etc. He gazes some minutes, sighs deeply, but at last speaks. Ph. The world moves not. I gaze upon the abyss, Look down into the black unfathomed vault Of Starland and behold—myself. The sea To give a sense of motion or of sound Washes the wall of this grey tower in vain ; 12