The people grew not in themselves, but blind,
Accepted sight from him, to him resigned
Their hopes of stature, rootless as at sea.
IV.
As under sea lay Solon's work, or seemed
By turbid shore-waves beaten day by day;
Defaced, half formless, like an image dreamed,
Or child that fashioned in another clay
Appears, by strangers' hands to home returned.
But shall the Present tyrannize us? earned