University of Virginia Library

So Fortune veered that day, till o'er the hills
Slipped the long shadows as the sun went down.
Then to the camp Minucius with his men
Paced sadly, silently; there, clothed with shame,
—And nobler for that shame—he stood and cried:
“The foremost man, and chief of all the world,
“O soldiers and O Romans, mates in arms!
“Is he whose wisdom for his country's weal
“Bears mellow fruit; and he the next in rank,
“That with obedience crowns the royal word
“That ripens victory, and who cannot bring
“Wisdom to counsel Power, nor yet obey
“Grey-haired Authority—stands last of all.
“Too late I see the swift prophetic mind
“That can outrun the winds of common thought,
“And the oracular judgment are not ours.
“So learn we best self-knowledge, so begin
“The lesson with a blind submissiveness,
“Content to follow, as the night the day,
“The slave his lord, through all the clanging fight,
“Our happier masters. Here our wisdom lies,
“And our true valour; for when men do wrong
“It is not manly to persist in wrong,
“But mend that wrong with right. If thus ye think,
“O co-mates in one common guilt with me,
“And co-mates in one common penitence,
“Wed the good thought to action, bearing back
“Your eagles, all dishonoured to the Tent,
“Where Fabius with fresh glory keeps his own.
“There will we pause; and, making hush'd approach
“To him that conquered Hannibal, nor less
“Hath conquered us, in that blind strife for rule,
“Will I look up into his gracious face,
“And call him Father: for what meaner name
“Befits the majesty that haloes him?
“Befits his love and all his gentle worth,
“And that illustrious service in the field?
“And you, O soldiers, you, saluting low
“Those famous victors, whose thrice-welcome arms,
“Protected, saved you, call them Patrons. Thus,
“If ampler breadth of glory be not ours,
“The tender grateful heart, that best commends
“The heroic deed, its lowlier praise shall win.
“Blow trumpets, blow!” The loud melodious call
Rang thro' the camp, and soon in stately march,
Minucius and his followers, rank by rank,
Moved to the Fabian tent; and as they passed,
All eyes that watched grew dim with generous tears,
Beholding nobler heights of conquest there,
Than all their swords could reach. Before the rest,
Minucius stepped, and pausing reverently,
Where mid his happier warriors Fabius sate,
He called him Father, and, saluting low,
His soldiers called them Patrons, and he said:
“Fabius, to thee I give the crowning name
“Men give to parents, likening thee to them,
“Tho' greater service asks a greater name,
“For they but gave me life, one single life,
“But thou the lives of all these many men.
“I therefore cancel that fond Roman law
“Which gave co-equal rule, and bend my will
“To thine, O Father, bringing back with me
“My legions and their eagles, the Preserved
“To the Preserver. Be it well for us,
“O Fabius! O my Father, be it well
“For thee and me, and be it well for all,
“And as we stand, clothing our looks with shame,
“Grace us with smiles, as parents grace their sons,
“And bid thy suppliants, now thy soldiers, march
“With joyful step in the old ranks of war.”

Then Pride knelt down to Love, and hands were clasp'd,
Old friends old friends encounter'd, or with new
New friends made friendly league for evermore.

Thus the black winds of passion, that at morn
Clouded the soul's pure sunlight, changed and passed
Into the stainless calm of summer thought,
To match the still fair Hour that slept without
In sunset's cradling arms; and all because
A human-hearted man, who loved his will,
Saw something greater yet than the blind sway
Of absolute will, and, stooping all his pride
In shame and grief, which carry stateliest proof
Of our self-reverence, to his nobler peer
Nobly surrendering, knelt, throwing a grace
Of princely words on this fine courtesy,
And calling him Preserver, Father, Friend,
So equalled with him in that high renown
Which guerdons manhood, or for splendid deed.
That walks in the broad light of crowding noon.
Or common pieties that love the shade,
And with the violets hide.

Thus in old days.
Humanity trod softly, speaking low,
Among the trumpets, for the ancient world
Stept best to martial music; yet at times,
In the rank bloom of mail'd and sceptred wrong,
Ere grief and shame took glory from the smiles
Of that still-dying One, who does not die,
Soft melodies were heard, and lowliest doubt
And sorrow sweet as love, rebuking pride,
Ere Christ came down made many a Christian man.