And what rewards the sturdy combatant?
His prize, repentance; infamy, his crown.
But wherefore infamy?—For want of faith,
Down the steep precipice of wrong he slides;
There’s nothing to support him in the right. 1152
Faith in the future wanting, is, at least
In embryo, every weakness, every guilt;
And strong temptation ripens it to birth.
If this life’s gain invites him to the deed,
Why not his country sold, his father slain?