University of Virginia Library

He said:
“Immortal gods, by Rome revered! to me,
A mortal man, revering Rome, did she
This creed bequeath: that to all sons she bears
There is but One Necessity (made theirs
In Rome's requital for a Roman's name)
—Living, or dying, never to know shame:
Never to shrink from pain: never recant
Recorded faith: never be suppliant
For life less noble than 'tis man's to make
Death in the cause which, even tho' gods forsake,
Honour, retain'd, keeps sacred to the last.
This, also, in the records of Rome's Past
My life read once: and read long since, indeed,
Too far to new-live now a new-learn'd creed:
—That, when to all the creatures under heaven
Their severally allotted tasks were given,
On man—man only—the injunction fell,
To do, by daring, the impossible:
That he who doth, tho' dying, dauntless still,
Plant the pale standard of unbaffled Will
On Fate's breach'd battlements, and to the end,
Defeating thus defeat itself, contend
Tenacious in the teeth of tenfold odds,
Uplifts the life he loses to the gods.

“Lies! lies! all lies! Since gods live careless lives,
Concern'd in nought for which man's being strives.
Justice? men deem'd the image of the mind
Of gods—a mere invention of mankind!
Love?—some blind blood-beat in the veins of youth!
Belief?—man's substitute for knowledge! Truth?
—Unknown in Heaven! Why man, whom you despise,
O'erweening gods, for getting all these lies
By heart in vain, seems nobler after all,
More godlike, than yourselves.
“Nor yet, so small,
So slight, so all unworthy, first appear'd
Man's race, but what you gods have interfered
Too much with man's condition to assume
This late indifference to your work—his doom.
Since one thing have you been at pains to do,
—To cheat the chosen fools that trusted you,
False gods, and filch thanksgiving, foully gain'd,
For all whereto the woeful end ordain'd
Was but betrayal.
“What! then, all meant nought?
All, all, that Delos told and Delphi taught,
Tho' a god spake it? All your oracles,
Your priests, your bards, your sacred woods and wells?
Liars of lies! all pledged to cheat man's hope
In gods too careless, or too weak, to cope,
With aught man suffers!
“Well can I believe
How man's imperfect progress might deceive,
And fail, as 'twere (man's prowess, at the best,
Crippled by means inadequate confess'd!)
The august hopes, by some bright periods
Of his brave promise, in the mind of gods
Inspired. But I, a man, no way can find
Among the many wanderings of my mind,
To imagine even how gods (whose godheads are
Glorious with power, each perfect as a star)
Should at the last fall short of hopes by them
In man's mind once awaken'd.
“Gods, condemn,
Punish man, plague him . . . but forsake him? No!
Not for your own sakes! Lest your godhoods grow,
From long disuse of godlike attributes,
Less lovely even than the life of brutes,
Not being so helpful.
“Yet, howe'er that be,
I, at the least, have loved ye, trusted ye,
So long that, tho' for me you fight no more,
Still must I fight for you. 'Twill soon be o'er:
Or one way, or another. Soonest, best,
I think: nor greatly care to know the rest.
One thing's to gain yet—death. No room to range
From what I am! The gods may change, Fate change,
I cannot. Not each casual tomb will fit
The fame a Roman's death consigns to it.
And I for this too-long-continued life
Must find fit end: hew out, with gods at strife,
Tho' sword break, heart break, all break, in the attempt,
Memorial—mournful, but, at least, exempt
From all incongruous contradiction vile.
Nor is life left me to lament, meanwhile,
Life's failure—frustrate faith, and fruitless deed!
One life, wherewith to fail, or to succeed,
Is man's. One only. I, at my life's end,
Cannot go back to the beginning—mend
What it hath made me—unlove what I loved—
Love what I loathed—condemn what I approved—
New-self myself, to suit occasion new.
The arrow, sped, must still its flight pursue
As first the bowman aim'd it, tho' since then
The bowman shift his ground. Life speeds with men
Even thus. And few can chuse, none change, what's done.
A man hath but one mother: and but one
Childhood: one past: one future: but one hearth:
One heart—to give or keep: one Heaven: one earth:
And one religion.
“Yet thus much, tho' spent
His force, and spoil'd his whole life's element,
A man may do: and this, at least, will I!
Ere, quench'd, the fires that still consume me, die,
I will collect their scatter'd heats, push all
Life's ashes, even while yet the embers fall,
Into a heap, and send the dying flame
Full in Heaven's face!
“O worthy of thy name,
Loxian Apollo! Boots it me to know
That men may see thee, as I see thee now,
Far from the life thy beauty doth but wrong,
Calm on the golden summits of Old Song?
No singer I! but a dull soldier: fit
Simply to love a thing, and fight for it,
Or hate a thing, and fight against it. Vent
My soul in song, I cannot, I! content
To do, at least, what merits to be sung:
Hold fast, when old, the faith I pledged when young:
Live up to it: die for it, if needs be.
What comfort, O Apollo, dwells for me,
Or what for any man, in leave to praise
The life of gods whose life his own betrays?
Their loves, that love him not? their power, that is
The mockery of the weakness they leave his?
Sing no more songs, Apollo, in men's ears!
Leave us, ye gods, in silence to the tears
You understand not! Spare this much vext earth
Distracting visions of Heaven's unshared mirth!
This, also, ere I die” . . . . .