It is enough that all men speak of it.
But I will also say, that when the gods
Visit us as they do with sign and plague,
To know those spells of thine which stay their hand
Were to live free from terror.
EMPEDOCLES.
Spells? Mistrust them!
Mind is the spell which governs earth and heaven;
Man has a mind with which to plan his safety,—
Know that, and help thyself!
PAUSANIAS.
But thine own words?
“The wit and counsel of man was never clear;
Troubles confound the little wit he has.”
Mind is a light which the gods mock us with,
To lead those false who trust it.
[The harp sounds again.
EMPEDOCLES.
Hist! once more!
Listen, Pausanias!—Ay, ’tis Callicles;
I know those notes among a thousand. Hark!
CALLICLES (sings unseen, from below).
The track winds down to the clear stream,
To cross the sparkling shallows; there
The cattle love to gather, on their way
To the high mountain pastures, and to stay,
Till the rough cow-herds drive them past,
Knee-deep in the cool ford; for ’tis the last
Of all the woody, high, well-watered dells
On Etna; and the beam
Of noon is broken there by chestnut-boughs
Down its steep verdant sides; the air
Is freshened by the leaping stream, which throws
Eternal showers of spray on the mossed roots
Of trees, and veins of turf, and long dark shoots
Of ivy-plants, and fragrant hanging bells
Of hyacinths, and on late anemones,
That muffle its wet banks; but glade,
And stream, and sward, and chestnut-trees,
End here; Etna beyond, in the broad glare
Of the hot noon, without a shade,
Slope behind slope, up to the peak, lies bare,—
The peak, round which the white clouds play.