And then I knew it had but tried my heart,
To teach me how to play a manly part,
And strengthen me in all my good intent.
VIII.
And here I stand alone, e'en like a leaf
In sudden frost, as quiet as the wing
Of wounded bird, which knows it cannot sing.
A child may moan, but not a mountain chief.
If we be sad, if we possess a grief,
The grief should be the slave, and not the king.