ses to be; whence it comes to pass that the bad cease to be what they
were, while only the outward aspect is still left to show they have been
men. Wherefore, by their perversion to badness, they have lost their
true human nature. Further, since righteousness alone can raise men
above the level of humanity, it must needs be that unrighteousness
degrades below man's level those whom it has cast out of man's estate.
It results, then, that thou canst not consider him human whom thou seest
transformed by vice. The violent despoiler of other men's goods,
enflamed with covetousness, surely resembles a wolf. A bold and restless
spirit, ever wrangling in law-courts, is like some yelping cur. The
secret schemer, taking pleasure in fraud and stealth, is own brother to
the fox. The passionate man, phrenzied with rage, we might believe to be
animated with the soul of a lion. The coward and runaway, afraid where
no fear is, may be likened to the timid deer. He who is sunk in
ignorance and stupidity lives like a dull ass. He who is light and
inconstant, never holding long to one thing, is for all the world like a
bird. He who wallows in foul and unclean lusts is sunk in the pleasures
of a filthy hog. So it comes to pass that he who by forsaking
righteousness ceases to be a man cannot pass into a Godlike condition,
but actually turns into a brute beast.'

SONG III.

CIRCE'S CUP.

Th' Ithacan discreet,
And all his storm-tossed fleet,
Far o'er the ocean wave
The winds of heaven drave--
Drave to the mystic isle,
Where dwelleth in her guile
That fair and faithless one,
The daughter of the Sun.
There for the stranger crew
With cunning spells she knew
To mix th' enchanted cup.
For whoso drinks it up,
Must suffer hideous change
To monstrous shapes and strange.
One like a boar appears;
This his huge form uprears,
Mighty in bulk and limb--
An Afric lion--grim
With claw and fang. Confessed
A wolf, this, sore distressed
When he would weep, doth howl;
And, strangely tame, these prowl
The Indian tiger's mates.

And though in such sore straits,
The pity of the god
Who bears the mystic rod
Had power the chieftain brave
From her fell arts to save;
His comrades, unrestrained,
The fatal goblet drained.
All now with low-bent head,
Like swine, on acorns fed;
Man's speech and form were reft,
No