Canto 32 (That Rama whom the Indian sung…)

That Rama whom the Indian sung— A god he was, but knew it not; Hence vainly puzzled at the wrong Misplacing him in human lot. Curtailment of his right he bare Rather than wrangle; but no less Was taunted for his tameness there. A fugitive without redress, He never the Holy Spirit grieved,

Nor the divine in him bereaved, Though what that was he might not guess.

Live they who, like to Rama, led Unspotted from the world aside, Like Rama are discredited— Like him, in outlawry abide? May life and fable so agree?— The innocent if lawless elf, Etherial in virginity, Retains the consciousness of self. Though black frost nip, though white frost chill, Nor white frost nor the black may kill The patient root, the vernal sense Surviving hard experience As grass the winter. Even that curse Which is the wormwood mixed with gall— Better dependent on the worse— Divine upon the animal— That can not make such natures fall. Though yielding easy rein, indeed, To impulse which the fibers breed, Nor quarreling with indolence; Shall these the cup of grief dispense Deliberate to any heart? Not craft they know, nor envy's smart. Theirs be the thoughts that dive and skim, Theirs the spiced tears that overbrim, And theirs the dimple and the lightsome whim. Such natures, and but such, have got Familiar with strange things that dwell Repressed in mortals; and they tell Of riddles in the prosiest lot. Mince ye some matter for faith's sake And heaven's good name? 'Tis these shall make Revolt there, and the gloss disclaim. They con the page kept down with those Which Adam's secret frame disclose, And Eve's; nor dare dissent from truth Although disreputable, sooth.

The riches in them be a store Unmerchantable in the ore. No matter: "'Tis an open mine: Dig; find ye gold, why, make it thine. The shrewder knack hast thou, the gift: Smelt then, and mold, and good go with thy thrift."

Was ever earth-born wight like this? Ay—in the verse, may be, he is.