His virtuous deeds, shall sweetly meditate
In lonely hours, and thus anticipate
The peace of Heaven. The man of noble mind,
Whom earth’s loud praises never can elate,
Has fix’d his anchor where no storms unkind
Can shake his steadfast soul, to every storm resign’d.
XXIV.
But whither have I wander’d? ’Tis my fault
T’ assume an attitude belligerent,
And with a wordy war my foes t’ assault!