Lures those to the good who imagine it real,
No work can ever inspire the earth
That embodies no promise of unfulfill’d worth,
And naught that the world accounts worthy of fame,
In art as in act, but is rank’d by its aim.
MUSICIAN AND MORALIZER.
What am I “doing,” night and day,
Loitering here with the flute?—
Doing?—why blowing my plaints away,
Off, till I blow them mute.