VIII.
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change came o'er the spirit of my dream.The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,The beings which surrounded him were gone,Or were at war with him; he was a markFor blight and desolation, compassed roundWith Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixedIn all which was served up to him, until, 190Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,[52]He fed on poisons, and they had no power,But were a kind of nutriment; he livedThrough that which had been death to many men,And made him friends of mountains:[53] with the starsAnd the quick Spirit of the Universe[54]He held his dialogues; and they did teachTo him the magic of their mysteries;To him the book of Night was opened wide,And voices from the deep abyss revealed[55] 200A marvel and a secret--Be it so.
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