WHERE IS THE BEAUTIFUL?
109
Methought that in those drops, by fervent heatTo life and ancient charity renewed,Were pulses, human holier than could thrillThrough the whole current of your watery blood.
Oh! sordid life—oh! conflict desperate,Oh! comfort shredded from a scanty hand;Oh! fainting feeble ones, who drop besideThe thorny way, and wail throughout the land.
Though I am one whom men care not to praise,And in the ages' service make small show,I could for you a thankless task assay,In your defence strike many a valorous blow.
Ye asked for love—these gave you fiery zeal,They locked your gentle souls in iron fate;And when the breast was bared for nearer help,They smote you with a heart impenetrate.
Come, share the freer gifts of poverty,—Of those I have, I will refuse you none,Upbraid you from no Stoical retreatOf Virtue more ambitious than your own.
