Prevails:—whate'er the nations say,
His purpose holds its darkling way.
What thing his nod hath ratified
Stands fast, and moves with firm sure tread,
Nor sways, nor swerves, nor starts aside:
A mazy thicket, hard to thread,
A labyrinth undiscovered still.
The far-drawn windings of his will.
Down from proud towers of hope
He throws infatuate men.
Nor needs, to reach his boundless scope.
The undistressful pain
Of Godlike effort; on his holy seat
He thinks, and all is done, even as him seems most meet.
The other passage[1] is put in the mouth of a chorus of old men, who are perplexed by what is virtually the problem of evil:
Zeus,—by what name soe'er
He glories being addressed.
Even by that holiest name
I name the Highest and Best.
On him I cast my troublous care.
My only refuge from despair:
Weighing all else, in Him alone I find
Relief from this vain burden of the mind.
One[2] erst appeared supreme.
Bold with abounding might,
But like a darkling dream
Vanished in long past night
Powerless to save; and he[3] is gone
Who flourished since, in turn to own
His conqueror, to whom with soul on fire
Man crying aloud shall gain his heart's desire,—
Zeus, who prepared for men
The path of wisdom, binding fast
Learning to suffering. In their sleep
The mind is visited again
With memory of affliction past.
Without the will, reflection deep
Reads lessons that perforce shall last.
Thanks to the power that plies the sovran oar,
Resistless, toward the eternal shore.
