"Our nature," said the Priest, in mild reply, 485 "Angels may weigh and fathom: they perceive, With undistempered and unclouded spirit, The object as it is; but, for ourselves, That speculative height _we_ may not reach. The good and evil are our own; and we 490 Are that which we would contemplate from far. Knowledge, for us, is difficult to gain-- Is difficult to gain, and hard to keep-- As virtue's self; like virtue is beset With snares; tried, tempted, subject to decay. 495 Love, admiration, fear, desire, and hate, Blind were we without these; through these alone Are capable to notice or discern Or to record; we judge, but cannot be Indifferent judges. 'Spite of proudest boast, 500 Reason, best reason, is to imperfect man An effort only, and a noble aim; A crown, an attribute of sovereign power, Still to be courted--never to be won. --Look forth, or each man dive into himself; 505 What sees he but a creature too perturbed; That is transported to excess; that yearns, Regrets, or trembles, wrongly, or too much; Hopes rashly, in disgust as rash recoils; Battens on spleen, or moulders in despair? 510 Thus comprehension fails, and truth is missed; Thus darkness[462] and delusion round our path Spread, from disease, whose subtle injury lurks Within the very faculty of sight.