Canto 8 (They journey. And, as heretofore…)

They journey. And, as heretofore, Derwent invoked his spirits bright Against the wilds expanding more: "Do but regard yon Islamite And horse: equipments be but lean, Nor less the nature still is rifc Mettle, you see, mettle and mien. Methinks fair lesson here we glean: The inherent vigor of man's life Transmitted from strong Adam down,

Takes no infirmity that's won By institutions—which, indeed, Be as equipments of the breed. God bless the marrow in the bone! What's Islam now? does Turkey thrive? Yet Islamite and Turk they wive And flourish, and the world goes on. "Ay. But all qualities of race Which make renown—these yet may die While leaving unimpaired in grace The virile power," was Rolfe's reply; "For witness here I cite a Greek— God bless him! who tricked me of late

In Argos. What a perfect beak In contour,—oh, 'twas delicate; And hero-symmetry of limb: Clownish I looked by side of him. Oh, but it does one's ardor damp— That splendid instrument, a scamp! These Greeks indeed they wear the kilt Bravely; they skim their lucid seas; But, prithee, where is Pericles? Plato is where? Simonides? No, friend: much good wine has been spilt: The rank world prospers; but, alack! Eden nor Athens shall come back:— And what's become of Arcady?" He paused; then in another key: "Prone, prone are era, man and nation To slide into a degradation? With some, to age is that—but that."

"Pathetic grow'st thou," Derwent said: And lightly, as in leafy glade, Lightly he in the saddle sat.