But wherefore have I learned, if, thus represt,
The leaven still must swell within my breast;
If the wild fig-tree, deeply rooted there,
Must never burst its bounds and shoot in air?
Are these the fruits of study, these of age?
Oh, times, oh, manners! Thou misjudging sage,
Is science only useful as ’tis shown,
And is thy knowledge nothing if not known?
But, sure, ’tis pleasant, as we walk, to see
The pointed finger, hear the loud “That’s he!”