The dead living in their memories, are, I am persuaded, the source of all
that we call instinct, and it is their love and their desire, all
unknowing, that make us drive beyond our reason, or in defiance of our
interest it may be; and it is the dream martens that, all unknowing, are
master-masons to the living martens building about church windows their
elaborate nests; and in their turn, the phantoms are stung to a keener
delight from a concord between their luminous pure vehicle and our strong
senses. It were to reproach the power or the beneficence of God, to
believe those children of Alexander who died wretchedly could not throw an
urnful to the heap, nor that Caesarea[2] murdered in childhood, whom
Cleopatra bore to Caesar, nor that so brief-lived younger Pericles
Aspasia bore being so nobly born.