Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/221

 Men who might Do greatly in a universe that breaks And burns, must ever know before they do. Courage and patience are but sacrifice; A sacrifice is offered for and to Something conceived of. Each man pays a price For what himself counts precious, whether true Or false the appreciation it implies. Here, was no knowledge, no conception, nought! Desire was absent, that provides great deeds From out the greatness of prevenient thought; And action, action, like a flame that needs A steady breath and fuel, being caught Up, like a burning reed from other reeds, Flashed in the empty and uncertain air, Then wavered, then went out. Behold, who blames A crooked course, when not a goal is there, To round the fervid striving of the games? An ignorance of means may minister To greatness, but an ignorance of aims Makes it impossible to be great at all. So, with our Tuscans! Let none dare to say, Here virtue never can be national, Here fortitude can never cut its way Between the Austrian muskets, out of thrall. I tell you rather, that whoever may Discern true ends here, shall grow pure enough To love them, brave enough to strive for them, And strong to reach them, though the roads be rough: That having learnt—by no mere apophthegm— Not the mere draping of a graceful stuff