But where is he can fathom its extent?
Amid a multitude of artless hands,
Ruin’s sure perquisite! her lawful prize!
Some steer aright; but the black blast blows hard,
And puffs them wide of hope: with hearts of proof,
Full against wind and tide, some win their way; 190
And when strong effort has deserved the port,
And tugg’d it into view, ’tis won! ’tis lost!
Though strong their oar, still stronger is their fate:
They strike; and, while they triumph, they expire.