Can bring the lofty brow of manhood down
Unto the very dust? And yet for this,
Fear not that I embrace my doom—O God!
That ’twere my doom alone!—with less of fix’d
And solemn fortitude. Lead on, prepare
The holiest rites of faith, that I by them
Once more may consecrate my sword, my life;
—But what are these? Who hath not dearer lives
Twined with his own! I shall be lonely soon—
Childless! Heaven wills it so. Let us begone.