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The man they scoffed replied not:
Lonely he mused on Rome's far destiny
By him since youth foreseen:
Foreseen it long he had, but not designed it;

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Events to him unwelcome brought the crisis:
He met it prompt, not glad. ‘By Rome,’ he said,
‘Confugiendum ad Imperium est:
Till now she ne'er was more than half an Empire.’
But there was greatness in his scheme: and Rome
Could rise no more to greatness.
Again and yet again that shame recurred.
One hope remained. An honourable foe
Is better than false friend. Alaric had served
Like Stilicho in Theodosius' armies:
They knew each other's worth: to each the course
Steered by the other was intelligible.
The King of Goths, the Regent of the Empire,
Had proved—each knew it—faithful to his trust:
Rivals they were in youth: war followed war:
Stilicho twice drave back the Goths: that done
He spared the German blood: the noble foes
Changed to true friends. Some Eastern plot detected
Stilicho cried; ‘Would God, Alaric and I
Might march like brothers to the Bosphorus
And drown therein the traitors!’ One who heard
Whispered that word to Alaric.