It is now many years since I stumbled, by the merest accident, on this very important question:

“Hath nature's soul,
That formed this world so beautiful, that spread
Earth's lap with plenty, and life's smaller chord
Strung to unchanging unison, that gave
The happy birds their dwelling in the grove,
That yielded to the wanderers of the deep
The lovely silence of the unfathomed main,
And filled the meanest worm that crawls in dust
With spirit, thought, and love; on man alone
Partial in causeless malice, wantonly
Heaped, ruin, nee, and slavery; his soul
Blasted with withering curses: placed afar
The meteor happiness, that shuns his grasp?”