CANTO THE FOURTH.
I. Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end ; For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend, Like Lucifer when hurled from Heaven for sinning ; Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend. Being Pride,^ which leads the mind to soar too far, Till our own weakness shows us what we are. II. But Time, which brings all beings to their level, And sharp Adversity, will teach at last Man, — and, as we would hope, — perhajis the Devil, That neither of their intellects are vast : While Youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel. We know not this — the blood flows on too fast ; But as the torrent widens towards the Ocean, We ponder deeply on each past emotion.^ I. [" Till Pride and worse Ambition threw me down, Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King." Paradise Lost, rv. 40, 41.] , ["Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy : In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r ; With listless eyes the dotard views the store, He views, and wonders that they please no more.
Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes."]