He is a hero stanch and brave
Who fights an unseen foe,
And puts at last beneath his feet
His passions base and low;
Who stands erect in manhood’s might,
Undaunted, undismayed,—
The bravest man who drew a sword
In foray or in raid.
It calls for something more than brawn
Or muscle to o’ercome
An enemy who marcheth not
With banner, plume, or drum,—
A foe forever lurking nigh,
With silent, stealthy tread;
Forever near your board by day,
At night beside your bed.
All honor, then, to that brave heart,
Though poor or rich he be,
Who struggles with his baser part,—
Who conquers and is free!
He may not wear a hero’s crown,
Or fill a hero’s grave;
But truth will place his name among
The bravest of the brave.
THE PEN.
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.
Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold
The arch enchanter’s wand!—itself a nothing
But taking sorcery from the master’s hand
To paralyze the Cæsars and to strike
The loud earth breathless! Take away the sword—
States can be saved without it.
From “Richelieu.”
