And turn to charge the theft on thee, a pilferer from them!
There is a magnanimity in recklessness of fame, so fame be well deserving,
That rusheth on in fearless might, the conscious sense of merit:
And there is a littleness in jealousy of fame, looking as aware of weakness,
That creepeth cautiously along, afraid that its title will be challenged.
The wild boar, full of beechmast, flingeth him down among the brambles;
Secure in bristly strength, without a watch, he sleepeth:
But the hare, afraid to feed, croucheth in its own soft form;
Wakefully with timid eyes, and quivering ears, he listeneth.
Even so, a giant's might is bound up in the soul of Genius,