Should pour out some rash word, which roving winds
Might whisper to our conquerers. This it is,
To wear a foreign yoke.
Pro. It matters not
To him who holds the mastery o’er his spirit,
And can suppress its workings, till endurance
Becomes as nature. We can tame ourselves
To all extremes, and there is that in life
To which we cling with most tenacious grasp,
Even when its lofty aims are all reduced