74. We recognize, however, without difficulty, the peril of insatiableness and immodesty in the pleasures of Art. Less recognized, but therefore more perilous, the insatiableness and immodesty of Science tempt us through our very virtues. The fatallest furies of scientific ἀφροσύνη are consistent with the most noble powers of self-restraint and self-sacrifice. It is not the lower passions, but the loftier hopes and most honourable desires which become deadliest when the charm of them is exalted by the vanity of science. The patience of the wisest of Greek heroes never fails, when the trial is by danger or pain; but do you recollect that, before his trial by the song of the Sirens, the sea becomes calm? And in the few words which Homer has told you of their song, you have not perhaps yet with enough care observed that the form of temptation is precisely that to which a man victorious over every fleshly trial would be likely to yield. The promise is not that his body shall be gratified, but that his soul shall rise into rapture; he is not urged, as by the subtlety of Comus, to disdain the precepts of wisdom, but invited, on the contrary, to learn,--as you are all now invited by the ἀφροσύνη of your age,--better wisdom from the wise. "For we know all" (they say) "that was done in Troy according to the will of the gods, and we know everything that is upon the all-nourishing earth." All heavenly and earthly knowledge, you see. I will read you Pope's expansion of the verses; for Pope never alters idly, but always illustrates when he expands. "Oh stay, oh pride of Greece! (You hear, they begin by flattery). Ulysses, stay, Oh cease thy course, and listen to our lay. Blest is the man ordained our voice to hear, The song instructs the soul, and charms the ear. Approach! Thy soul shall into raptures rise; Approach! and learn new wisdom from the wise. We know whate'er the kings of mighty name Achieved at Ilion in the field of Fame, Whate'er beneath the Sun's bright journey lies. Oh, stay, and learn new wisdom from the wise." Is it not singular that so long ago the danger of this novelty of wisdom should have been completely discerned? Is it not stranger still that three thousand years have passed by, and we have not yet been able to learn the lesson, but are still eager to add to our knowledge, rather than to use it; and every day more passionate in discovering,--more violent in competition,--are every day more cold in admiration, and more dull in reverence?