Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/322

304 Whose heart is free from mad desires; Whom vain ambition moveth not, Nor fickle favor of the mob. The hidden treasures of the west Move not his heart, nor sands of gold Which Tagus' waters sweep along Within their shining bed; Nor yet the garnered wealth of grain Trod out on Libyan threshing-floors. He fears no hurtling thunderbolt In zig-zag course athwart the sky; No Eurus ruffling up the sea, Nor the heaving Adriatic's waves, Windswept and mad before the blast; No hostile spear, nor keen, bare sword Can master him; but, set on high, In calm serenity he sees All things of earth beneath his feet. And so with joy he goes to meet His fate, and welcomes death. In vain 'gainst him would kings contend, Though from all lands they congregate— They who the scattered Dacians lead; Who dwell upon the red sea's marge Whose depths are set with gleaming pearls; Or who, secure on Caspian heights, Leave all unclosed their mountain ways Against the bold Sarmatians; They who through Danube's swelling waves Dare make their way with fearless feet, And, wheresoe'er they dwell, despoil The famed and far-off Serians: In vain all these, for 'tis the soul That makes the king. He needs no arms, No steeds, no ineffectual darts Such as the Parthian hurls from far In simulated flight; for him No engines huge with far-hurled rocks Lay waste the hostile city's walls.