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To those who need the gift. But, after all,
Is aught so certain as that Man is doomed
To breathe beneath a vault of ignorance?
The natural roof of that dark house in which
His soul is pent! How little can be known,
This is the wise man's sigh; how far we err,
This is the good man's not unfrequent pang,
And they perhaps err least, the lowly Class
Whom a benign necessity compels
To follow Reason's least ambitious course;
Such do I mean who, unperplexed by doubt
And unincited by a wish to look
Into high objects farther than they may,
Pace to and fro, from morn till even-tide,
The narrow avenue of daily toil
For daily bread."
"Yes," buoyantly exclaimed
The pale Recluse—"praise to the sturdy plough,
And patient spade, and shepherd's simple crook,
And ponderous loom—resounding while it holds
Body and mind in one captivity;
And let the light mechanic tool be hailed
With honour; which, encasing, by the power
