Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchang'd To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues.

Such joy ambition finds.

Ah, why should all mankind For one man's fault, be condemned, If guiltless?

Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).

Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?