I.

"Spirits—still Spirits!—strange that every race
Of Man," thought Ranolf as he went,
"Still on that fixed idea is bent,
That in some fashion, form or place,
Spirit without Matter can and does exist:
Yet to its source whene'er we trace
Some record of its presence, sent
"Without a bodily environment,
The 'proof (so-called) is always missed.
What then?—Is Matters self much better off?
Prove its appearance unallied
With Spirit, if you can. Sure, Reason's pride
Should spurn the refuge of a scoff,
When Mailer's very being is denied,
And bring-us proof. Probe Matter to the last,
Nothing but active Spirit will be found:
Aye, all we see and hear, the glorious round
Of our sensations has no other ground;
Only their sequence stands so fixed and fast;
In such unchanged alliance are they passed
Before us by the Master-Showman's hand.—
All Ghosts and Apparitions here we stand!
page 207 And for your vulgar 'ghosts,' indeed
'Tis breach of sequence only that we need
Produce—no more; prove shadows may succeed
Each other in a series yet to law
Unknown; find but a single certain flaw
Or falter in the dream-procession grand.
An easy task 'twould seem! And yet 'tis true
'Tis that—that merely—we can never do!

And yet, since Man will have his Ghost
Whate'er his race—not as a thing to boast
Or glory in; no fancy bright and wild
Of one by his self-love beguiled,
No whim by fond ambition feigned or fed,
Or vulgar 'medium' by imposture bred;
But as a terror, a revolting dread,
Which his repugnant Will had gladly fled;
What can be thought, when all is said,
But that about this notion there must be
Some still unravelled mystery,
Some germ of purposed certainty."