Of those hand-labor'd chert-flakes, whether axe, chisel, or knife, Spearhead, barb of arrow, rough plane or rudely serrate saw? Stones that in our grandsires' time told no sermon, (awaiting Indestructible, unnumber'd, on chary attention,) From their prēadamite pulpits now cry Revelation. 370 Not to a Greek his chanted epic had mortal allurement, Conjuring old-world fancies of Ilium and of Olympus, As this story to me, this tale primæval of unsung, Unwritten, ancestral fate and adversity, this siege Of courage and happiness protracted so many thousand Thousand years in a slow persistent victory of brain And right hand o'er all the venom'd stings, sharpnesses of fang And dread fury whate'er Nature, tirelessly devising, Could develop with tooth, claw, tusk, or horn to oppose them. See now Herakles, who strangled snakes when an infant 380 In[v]his cradle alone; and nought but those petty stonechips For the battle: 'twas wonder above wonders his achievement: Yea, and since he thought as a child 'twas natural in[v]him, Meeting in existence with purposes antagonistic, Circumstances oppos'd to desire, vast activities, which Thwarted effort, to assume All-might as spiteful against him. Nay, as an artist born, impell'd to devise a religion,-- So to relate himself idēally with the immortal,-- This quarrel of reason with what displeas'd his affections Was not amiss. The desire and love of beauty possess man: Art is of all that beauty the best outwardly presented; 391 Truth to the soul is merely the best that mind can imagine. No lover ēternal will hold to an older opinion If but lovelier ideas, with Nature agrēeing, Are to his understanding offer'd.... But enough: 'tis an unsolv'd Mystery.--Yet man dreams to flatter[v]his dēity saying 'Beautiful is Nature!' rather 'tis various, endless, And her efforts fertile in error tho' grand in attainment. If wé, while praising[v]her scheme and infinite order, Are compell'd to select, our choice condemns the remainder; Nor can wisdom honour those loathly polluting offences, 401 Whose very names to the Muse are either accursèd or unknown. Nay, if such foul things thou deemest worthy, the fault was Making us, O Nature, thy judge and tearful accuser. Turn our thought for awhile to the symphonies of Beethoven, Or the rever'd preludes of mighty Sebastian; Is there One work of Nature's contrivance beautiful as these? Judg'd by beauty alone man wins, as sensuous artist; And for other qualities, the spirit's differentia, Nature Scarce observes them at all: that keen unfaltering insight, 410 Whereby[v]earthly desire's roaming wildernesses are changed Into a garden a-bloom; its wandering impossible ways Into pillar'd avenues, alleys and fair-flow'ry terrac'd walks,