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Many the things that strange and wondrous are,

None stranger and more wonderful than man;

He dares to wander far,

With stormy blast across the hoary sea,

Where nought his eye can scan

But waves still surging round unceasingly;

And Earth, of all the Gods,

Mightiest, unwearied, indestructible,

He weareth year by year, and breaks her clods,

While the keen plough-share marks its furrows well,

Still turning to and fro;

And still he bids his steeds

Through daily taskwork go.

And lo! with snare and net he captives makes

Of all the swift-winged tribes that flit through air;

Wild, untamed beasts he takes;

And many a sea-born dweller of the deep

He with devices rare

Snares in his mesh,—man, wonderful in skill;

And all brute things that dwell

In forest dark, or roam upon the hill,

He by his craft makes subject to his need,

And brings upon the neck of rough-maned steed

The yoke that makes him bend,

And binds the mountain bull

Resisting to the end.

And speech, and subtle thought,

Swift as the wind,