Chapter XXV. In Memoriam.  In memory of Eric Ericson, I add a
chapter of sonnets gathered from his papers, almost desiring
that those only should read them who turn to the book a second
time. How his papers came into my possession, will be explained
afterwards.  Tumultuous rushing o'er the outstretched plains; A
wildered maze of comets and of suns; The blood of changeless God
that ever runs With quick diastole up the immortal veins; A
phantom host that moves and works in chains; A monstrous fiction
which, collapsing, stuns The mind to stupor and amaze at once; A
tragedy which that man best explains Who rushes blindly on his
wild career With trampling hoofs and sound of mailed war, Who
will not nurse a life to win a tear, But is extinguished like a
falling star:-- Such will at times this life appear to me, Until
I learn to read more perfectly.  HOM. IL. v. 403.  If thou art
tempted by a thought of ill, Crave not too soon for victory, nor
deem Thou art a coward if thy safety seem To spring too little
from a rig