THE KEY.

As one who in the night, passing a street

Deserted, finds a lost key rusted and old,

Yet knows that it will fit some great iron door

Behind which countless treasures are concealed,

So I, when first I came to Mesmer's works,

Knew I had found the key to move the door

Of my twin problems. Then, day after day,

I made them all my study. Much I mourned

The sad disheartened life that Mesmer led.

He never knew that one good thing, success;

But yet his strong, persistent genius, to the end

Endured. Yet such the rule in every age.

The one true man appears, and gives his thought,

At which the whole world rail or basely sneer.

The next man comes and makes a thankless use

Of what the other knew, and wins the praise

The first man lost by being ripe too soon.