His soul to power's perfection." Song, not deeds,
(For we get tired) was chosen. Fate would brook
Mankind no other organ; he would look
For not another channel to dispense
His own volition by, receive men's sense
Of its supremacy—would live content,
Obstructed else, with merely verse for vent.
Yet is able to imagine everything,
Nor should, for instance, strength an outlet seek
And, striving, be admired; nor grace bespeak