ke a drunken man, knows not by what path to
return home. Think you they are wrong who strive to escape want? Nay,
truly there is nothing which can so well complete happiness as a state
abounding in all good things, needing nothing from outside, but wholly
self-sufficing. Do they fall into error who deem that which is best to
be also best deserving to receive the homage of reverence? Not at all.
That cannot possibly be vile and contemptible, to attain which the
endeavours of nearly all mankind are directed. Then, is power not to be
reckoned in the category of good? Why, can that which is plainly more
efficacious than anything else be esteemed a thing feeble and void of
strength? Or is renown to be thought of no account? Nay, it cannot be
ignored that the highest renown is constantly associated with the
highest excellence. And what need is there to say that happiness is not
haunted by care and gloom, nor exposed to trouble and vexation, since
that is a condition we ask of the very least of things, from the
possession and enjoyment of which we expect delight? So, then, these are
the blessings men wish to win; they want riches, rank, sovereignty,
glory, pleasure, because they believe that by these means they will
secure independence, reverence, power, renown, and joy of heart.
Therefore, it is _the good_ which men seek by such divers courses; and
herein is easily shown the might of Nature's power, since, although
opinions are so various and discordant, yet they agree in cherishing
_good_ as the end.'

SONG II.

THE BENT OF NATURE.

How the might of Nature sways
All the world in ordered ways,
How resistless laws control
Each least portion of the whole--
Fain would I in sounding verse
On my pliant strings rehearse.

Lo, the lion captive ta'en
Meekly wears his gilded chain;
Yet though he by hand be fed,
Though a master's whip he dread,
If but once the taste of gore
Whet his cruel lips once more,
Straight his slumbering fierceness wakes,
With one roar his bonds he breaks,
And first wreaks his vengeful force
On his trainer's mangled corse.

And the woodland songster, pent
In forlorn imprisonment,
Though a mistress' lavish care
Store of honeyed sweets prepare;
Yet, if in his narrow cage,
As he hops from bar to bar,
He should spy the woods afar,
Cool with sheltering foliage,
All these dainties he will spurn,