Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent

To lead the guilty—Guilt's worse instrument— 250

His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven

Him forth to war with Man and forfeit Heaven.

Warped by the world in Disappointment's school,

In words too wise—in conduct there a fool;

Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,

Doomed by his very virtues for a dupe,

He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,

And not the traitors who betrayed him still;

Nor deemed that gifts bestowed on better men

Had left him joy, and means to give again. 260

Feared—shunned—belied—ere Youth had lost her force,

He hated Man too much to feel remorse,

And thought the voice of Wrath a sacred call,

To pay the injuries of some on all.

He knew himself a villain—but he deemed

The rest no better than the thing he seemed;

And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid

Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.

He knew himself detested, but he knew

The hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too. 270

Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt

From all affection and from all contempt:

His name could sadden, and his acts surprise;

But they that feared him dared not to despise:

Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake

The slumbering venom of the folded snake:

The first may turn, but not avenge the blow;

The last expires, but leaves no living foe;

Fast to the doomed offender's form it clings,

And he may crush—not conquer—still it stings![202] 280