Sooner that hero’s sword the world had quell’d,
Than Reason, his ambition. Man must soar.
An obstinate activity within, 390
An insuppressive spring, will toss him up
In spite of Fortune’s load. Not kings alone,
Each villager has his ambition too;
No Sultan prouder than his fetter’d slave:
Slaves build their little Babylons of straw,
Echo the proud Assyrian, in their hearts,
And cry,—“Behold the wonders of my might!”