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HE that has loyally served the State
Whereof he found himself a part,
Or spent his life-blood to create
A kingdom’s treasure in his art;
Who sees the enemies of his land
Applauded, by her sects and schools;
And the high thought they scarce had scanned
Derided and befogged by fools;
—Better to know it soon than late!—
Struggling, he wins a meed of praise;
Achieving, he is dogged by hate
And furtive malice all his days.
O, Emperor of the Stoic clan,
Enfold him, then, with nobler pride.
Teach him that nought can hurt a man
Who will not turn or stoop to chide.
Can falsehood kindle or bedim
One bay-leaf in his quiet crown?
Ten thousand Lies may pluck at him,
But only Truth can tear him down.
Why should he heed the thing they say?
They never asked if it were true.
Why brush one scribbler’s tale away
For others to invent a new?
No, let him search his heart, secure
—If Truth be there—from tongue or pen;
And teach us, Emperor, to endure,
To think like Romans and like men.
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