Leaped into form, the noble work of chance;
}
Or this great All was from eternity,— }
Not even the Stagyrite himself could see, }
And Epicurus guessed as well as he. }
As blindly groped they for a future state,
As rashly judged of providence and fate;
But least of all could their endeavours find
What most concerned the good of human kind;
For happiness was never to be found,