Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/273

Rh Nor only, in the intent

To attach blame elsewhere,

Do we at will invent

Stern powers who make their care

To imbitter human life, malignant deities;

But, next, we would reverse

The scheme ourselves have spun,

And what we made to curse

We now would lean upon,

And feign kind gods who perfect what man vainly tries.

Look, the world tempts our eye,

And we would know it all!

We map the starry sky,

We mine this earthen ball,

We measure the sea-tides, we number the sea-sands;

We scrutinize the dates

Of long-past human things,

The bounds of effaced states,

The lines of deceased kings;

We search out dead men's words, and works of dead men's hands;

We shut our eyes, and muse

How our own minds are made,

What springs of thought they use,

How rightened, how betrayed,—

And spend our wit to name what most employ unnamed.

But still, as we proceed,

The mass swells more and more

Of volumes yet to read,

Of secrets yet to explore.

Our hair grows gray, our eyes are dimmed, our heat is tamed;