 | Poems |  |
104
TO ---.
Thy life hath been a warfare from the first,But one by one thou hast besieged and burst
The iron gates of Prejudice, and wrung
Tardy confession from an enemy's tongue,
Of the just might of genius and of will,
Against their petty instruments of ill—
The sneer of ignorance, and the scorn of pride,
The blinded, arrogant folly that would ride
Rough-shod o'er merit, and the pomp of place
That fain would deem it somewhat of disgrace
To bend its shallow dignity—and know
It doth receive an honor, not bestow,
When one whom God hath gifted with the dower
Of lofty foresight, and rich words of power,
Accepts that homage which a luminous Fate
Decrees the Small must render to the Great.
At last upon thy brow, despite of them,
Fame sets her broad, imperial diadem,
And not a jewel blazes in that crown,
But gleams a separate scorn to quail them down.
| Poems | |