Book 2, Chapter 15

⁠​​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌‌⁠“Black eyes you have left, you say, Blue eyes fail to draw you; Yet you seem more rapt to-day, Than of old we saw you.

“Oh, I track the fairest fair Through new haunts of pleasure; Footprints here and echoes there Guide me to my treasure:

“Lo! she turns—immortal youth Wrought to mortal stature, Fresh as starlight’s aged truth—Many-namèd Nature!”

A great historian, as he insisted on calling himself, w