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 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
V.
Yet there had grown a weariness in the breastOf the young chief; the mortal man, o'ercome
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And with a craving appetite for home,
Lay prostrate for a season—saw no sun
Making a passage o'er the mighty piles—
No wingéd eye of wooing that beguiles
To conquest, through new promise. Toil had done
Her work in deep exhaustion; and his thought
Challenged the truth in that same faith it taught:
The merits of that mission which, unsought,
Had sworn his young soul to the work of Hate!
The weakness tutored him the work to shun;
Counselled the ingenious fear, the shrewd device,
The false Philosophy, that knows to prate,
By calculation close, and caution nice,
In fashion fatal to the great design;
Making depend on square and measure fine,
The grand achievement, and the purpose great,
By which the mighty Genius conquers Fate.
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |