And, all unconscious, add more lustre yet
Unto their victory.
“Lo! a farmer ploughing busily,
Who lifts a swart face, looks upon the plain.
I see in his frank eyes
The hero’s soul appear.
Thus in the common fields and streets they stand;
The light that on the past and distant gleams
They cast upon the present and the near,
With antique virtues from some mystic land