Song VIII
Human Folly
Alas! how wide astray
Doth Ignorance these wretched mortals lead
From Truth’s own way!
For not on leafy stems
Do ye within the green wood look for gold,
Nor strip the vine for gems;
Your nets ye do not spread
Upon the hilltops, that the groaning board
With fish be furnishèd;
If ye are fain to chase
The bounding goat, ye sweep not in vain search
The ocean’s ruffled face.
The sea’s far depths they know,
Each hidden nook, wherein the waves o’erwash
The pearl as white as snow;
Where lurks the Tyrian shell,
Where fish and prickly urchins do abound,
All this they know full well.
But not to know or care
Where hidden lies the good all hearts desire—
This blindness they can bear;
With gaze on earth low-bent,
They seek for that which reacheth far beyond
The starry firmament.
What curse shall I call down
On hearts so dull? May they the race still run
For wealth and high renown!
And when with much ado
The false good they have grasped—ah, then too late!—
May they discern the true!
IX
“This much may well suffice to set forth the form of false happiness; if this is now clear to thine eyes, the next step is to show what true happiness is.”
“Indeed,” said I, “I see clearly enough that neither is independence to be found in wealth, nor power in sovereignty, nor reverence in dignities, nor fame in glory, nor true joy in pleasures.”
“Hast thou discerned also the causes why this is so?”
“I seem to have some inkling, but I should like to learn more at large from thee.”
“Why, truly the reason is hard at hand. That which is simple and indivisible by nature human error separates, and transforms from the true and perfect to the false and imperfect. Dost thou imagine that which lacketh nothing can want power?”
“Certainly not.”
“Right; for if there is any feebleness of strength in anything, in this there must necessarily be need of external protection.”
“That is so.”
“Accordingly, the nature of independence and power is one and the same.”
“It seems so.”
“Well, but dost think that anything of such a nature as this can be looked upon with contempt, or is it rather of all things most worthy of veneration?”
“Nay; there can be no doubt as to that.”
“Let us, then, add reverence to independence and power, and conclude these three to be one.”
“We must if we will acknowledge the truth.”
“Thinkest thou, then, this combination of qualities to be obscure and without distinction, or rather famous in all renown? Just consider: can that want renown which has been agreed to be lacking in nothing, to be supreme in power, and right worthy of honour, for the reason that it cannot bestow this upon itself, and so comes to appear somewhat poor in esteem?”
“I cannot but acknowledge that, being what it is, this union of qualities is also right famous.”
“It follows, then, that we must admit that renown is not different from the other three.”
“It does,” said I.
“That, then, which needs nothing outside itself, which can accomplish all things in its own strength, which enjoys fame and compels reverence, must not this evidently be also fully crowned with joy?”
“In sooth, I cannot conceive,” said I, “how any sadness can find entrance into such a state; wherefore I must needs acknowledge it full of joy—at least, if our former conclusions are to hold.”
“Then, for the same reasons, this also is necessary—that independence, power, renown, reverence, and sweetness of delight, are different only in name, but in substance differ no wise one from the other.”
“It is,” said I.
“This, then, which is one, and simple by nature, human perversity separates, and, in trying to win a part of that which has no parts, fails to attain not only that portion (since there are no portions), but also the whole, to which it does not dream of aspiring.”
“How so?” said I.
“He who, to escape want, seeks riches, gives himself no concern about power; he prefers a mean and low estate, and also denies himself many pleasures dear to nature to avoid losing the money which he has gained. But at this rate he does not even attain
