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.