[Lyric] Thought (Washington Allston)

What master-voice shall from the dim profound
Of Thought evoke its fearful, mighty Powers?—
Those dread enchanters, whose terrific call
May never be gainsaid; whose wondrous thrall
Alone the Infinite, the Uncreate, may bound;
In whose dark presence e'en the Reason cowers,
Lost in their mystery, e'en while her slaves,
Doing her proud behests. Ay, who to sense
Shall bring them forth?—those subtile Powers that wear
No shape their own, yet to the mind dispense
All shapes that be. Or who in deepest graves
Seal down the crime which they shall not uptear?—
Those fierce avengers, whom the murdered dead
Shall hear, and follow to the murderer's bed.