The lamp must be replenish'd, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch.
My slumbers - if I slumber - are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructor of the wise;
Sorrow is knowledge:
Now to my task.-

Mysterious Agency!

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