Then thou wouldst look less mazed Whene'er of bliss debarr'd, Nor think the Gods were crazed When thy own lot went hard. But we are all the same the fools of our own woes ! For, from the first faint morn Of life, the thirst for bliss Deep in man's heart is born! And, sceptic as he is, He fails not to judge clear if this be quench'd or no. Nor is that thirst to blame! Man errs not that he deems His welfare his true aim; He errs because he dreams The world does but exist that welfare to bestow. We mortals are no kings Meant merely for his play; No, we are strangers here; the world is from of old. In vain our pent wills fret, And would the world subdue. Limits we did not set Condition all we do; Born into life we are, and life must be our mould! Born into life!-man grows Forth from his parents' stem, And blends their bloods, as those Of theirs are blent in them; So each new man strikes root into a far fore-time. Born into life!-we bring A bias with us here, And, when here, each new thing Affects us we come near; To tunes we did not call our being must keep chime. Born into life!-in vain, Opinions, those or these, Unalter'd to retain The obstinate mind decrees; Experience, like a sea, soaks all-effacing in! Born into life!-who lists May what is false hold dear, And for himself make mists Through which to see less clear; The world is what it is, for all our dust and din. Born into life!—'tis we, Others have urged it too Our wants have all been felt, our errors made before. No eye could be too sound To observe a world so vast, No patience too profound To sort what's here amass'd; How man may here best live no care too great to explore. But we as some rude guest Would change, where'er he roam, The manners there profess'd To those he brings from home— We mark not the world's course, but would have it take ours. The world's course proves the terms On which man wins content; Reason the proof confirms; We spurn it, and invent A false course for the world, and for ourselves, false powers. Riches we wish to get, Yet remain spendthrifts still; We would have health, and yet Still use our bodies ill; Bafflers of our own prayers, from youth to life's last scenes! We would have inward peace, Yet will not look within; We would have misery cease, Yet will not cease from sin; We want all pleasant ends, but will use no harsh means; We do not what we ought, What we ought not, we do, And lean upon the thought That chance will bring us through; But our own acts, for good or ill, are mightier powers! Yet, even when man forsakes All sin-is just, is pure, Abandons all which makes His welfare insecure Other existences there are, that clash with ours. Like us, the lightning-fires Love to have scope and play; The stream, like us, desires An unimpeded way; Like us, the Libyan wind delights to roam at large. Streams will not curb their pride The just man not to entomb, Nor lightnings go aside To give his virtues room; Nor is that wind less rough which blows a good man's barge. Nature, with equal mind, Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away! Allows the proudly-riding and the founder'd bark. |