s you are led,
Should make appear all other-having, vile,
And every torment be as pleasure held,
Who, hoping to behold
Graces unique and rare,
May hold in high disdain all other lights.

Ah, weary ones! Too long, too long our limbs
Have wandered o'er the terrene globe,
So that to us it seems
As if the shrewd wild beast,
With false and flattering hopes,
Our bosoms has encumbered with her wiles.

Wretched henceforth, we see, though late, the witch
Concerned to keep us all with promises
(And for our greater hurt), at bay;
For surely she believes
No woman can be found
Beneath the roof of heaven so dowered as she.

Now that we know that every hope is vain,
We yield to destiny and are content,
Nor will withdraw from all our strivings sore;
And staying not our steps,
Though trembling, tired and vexed,
We languish through the days that yet are ours.

Oh graceful nymphs, that on the grassy banks
Of gentle Thames do make your home,
Do not disdain, ye beauteous ones,
To try, although in vain,
With those white hands of yours
To uncover that which in our urn is hid.

Who knows? perchance it may be on these shores,
Where, with the Nereids, may be seen
The rapid torrent from below ascend
And wind again
Back to its source,
That heaven has destined there she shall be found.

One of the nymphs took the urn in her hand, and without trying to do
more offered it to one at a time, but not one was found who dared to be
the first to try (to open it), but all by common consent, after simply
looking at it, referred and proposed it with respect and reverence to
one alone; who, finally, not so much to exhibit her own glory as to
succour those unhappy ones, and while in a sort of doubt, the urn opened
as it were spontaneously of itself. But what shall I say to you of the
applause of the nymphs? How can you imagine that I can express the
extreme joy of the nine blind men, when, hearing that the urn was open,
they felt themselves sprinkled with the desired waters, they opened
their eyes and saw the two suns, and felt they had gained a double
happiness; one, the having recovered the light they had lost, the other
that of the newly discovered light which alone could show them the image
of the highest good upon earth. How, I say, can you expect me to
describe the joy and exulting merriment of voic