XIX. CREST AND GULF.
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uch woe that man befallsWho does not run when sent, nor come when Heaven calls;But whether he serve God, or his own whim,Not matters, in the end, to any one but him;And he as soonShall map the other side of the Moon,As trace what his own deed,In the next chop of the chance gale, shall breed.This he may know:His good or evil seedIs like to grow,For its first harvest, quite to contraries:The father wiseHas still the hare-brain'd brood;'Gainst evil, ill example better works than good;The poet, fanning his mild flightAt a most keen and arduous height,Unveils the tender heavens to horny human eyesAmidst ingenious blasphemies.Wouldst raise the poor, in Capuan luxury sunk?The Nation lives but whilst its Lords are drunk!Or spread Heav'n's partial gifts o'er all, like dew?The Many's weedy growth withers the gracious Few!Strange opposites, from those, again, shall rise.Join, then, if thee it please, the bitter jestOf mankind's progress; all its spectral raceMere impotence of rest,The heaving vain of life which cannot cease from self,Crest altering still to gulfAnd gulf to crestIn endless chace,That leaves the tossing water anchor'd in its place!Ah, well does he who does but stand aside,Sans hope or fear,And marks the crest and gulf in station sink and rear,And prophesies 'gainst trust in such a tide:For he sometimes is prophet, heavenly taught,Whose message is that he sees only nought.Nathless, discern'd may be,By listeners at the doors of destiny,The fly-wheel swift and stillOf God's incessant will,Mighty to keep in bound, tho' powerless to quell,The amorous and vehement drift of man's herd to hell.
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