I

TILL I, that am a soldier born, can find Some war so worthy, I may pledge it straight Unto my dear and virgin sword for mate, Who now lies cloistered in her sheath behind, Must I ride thus in vain; and on my mind The torment and the thirst of glory wait, And never cause with zeal inviolate Be strong enough my haughty youth to bind. Ah, readier men-at-arms! beneath the trees Where shepherd-meek, I bear mine altered part, And watch the charge far off, and think with awe: I have seen higher, holier things than these, And therefore must to these refuse my heart,-- That heavenly pride forbids my hand to draw.

Τὸ καλόν: Arthur Hugh Clough.