The oft proffered intervention of these blind guides of the blind;
On we press, and leave quacks, critics, dreamers, schemers, all behind.
From the crowd some intervening pine-trees now our band are screening,
Yet they shout, their praises meaning for the quacks we leave below.
We, with bated breath, slow creeping up the sharply rising steep, in
Indian file our course must keep in paths that faint and fainter grow—
Only by the spoils of those who went before, the track we know.
For in crevice, nook, and cranny peering, we perceive that many
Of our predecessors any loads they liked not, here threw down.
Loyola's whole knightly armour, and the ploughshare of the farmer