Page:Poems of home and travel (IA poemsofhometrave00tayl).pdf/95

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IV.Thou giv'st that temper of enduring mould,That slights the wayward bent of Destiny,—Such as sent forth the shaggy Jarls of oldTo launch their dragons on the unknown sea:Such as kept strong the sinews of the sword,The proud, hot blood of battle,—welcome madeThe headsman's axe, the rack, the martyr-fire,The ignominious cord,When but to yield, had pomps and honors laidOn heads that moulder in ignoble mire.
V.Night is the summer when the soul grows ripeWith Life's full harvest: of her myriad suns,Thou dost not gild the quiet herdsman's pipe,Nor royal state, that royal action shuns.But in the noontide of thy ruddy starsThrive strength, and daring, and the blood whence springsThe Heraclidean seed of heroes; thenWere sundered Gaza's bars;Then, 'mid the smitten Hydra's loosened rings,His slayer rested, in the Lernean fen.
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