Or to bring forth the blindworm red
That, creeping, loves a lightless bed,
Would turn the old grey stone.
And thus he lived, and thus he died,
And ended to the brute allied,
Who like a god began;
And he hath gained a painful fame,
And marred immortal praise with blame,
And taught to whoso names his name,
Pride was not made for man! J. S. B.