Page:Ethel Churchill 1.pdf/311

"If," muttered he to himself, "every place bore record of the wretchedness that they had witnessed, they could not thus mock us with their bright and serene aspect. Folly, of that dreaming creed of old, to believe that the calm, far stars, governed the base destinies of earth! But the world was young then—warm with the celestial fire that called it into being. Imagination walked its fresh paths even as a god, and shed around glorious beliefs and divine aspirings: its presence made beautiful the planet that it redeemed with its heavenly essence: but the imagination has exhausted its poetry; we are given over, worn out, and yet struggling to the cold and the real. We know more than we did, but we love less; and what knowledge is to be acquired on our weary soil but the knowledge of evil? I look around, and see nothing but suffering: mankind is divided into two classes, in which all alternately take their place—the tyrant and the victim. How we torture each other! Not content with our inevitable portion, with sickness, toil, and death, we must create and inflict sorrow!"