“WHY, when the world’s great mind
    Hath finally inclined,
Why,” you say, Critias, “be debating still?
    Why, with these mournful rhymes
    Learned in more languid climes,
    Blame our activity
    Who, with such passionate will,
    Are what we mean to be?”

    Critias, long since, I know
    (For Fate decreed...