And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blow of circumstance,
And grapples with his evil star.
“Who makes by force his merit known,
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state’s decrees,
And shape the whisper of the throne.
“And moving up from high to higher,
Becomes on Fortune’s crowning slope
The pillar of a people’s hope,