His neck is strong with confidence, and he goeth tusked with power:
Sturdily he roameth in the forest, or sunneth him in fen and field,
And scareth from his marshy lair a host of fearful foes.
But there is a mimic Talent, whose safety lieth in its quickness,
A timorous thing of doubling guile, that scarce can face a friend:
This one is captious of reproof, provident to snatch occasion,
Greedy of applause, and vexed to lose one tittle of the glory.
He is a poor warder of his fame, who is ever on the watch to keep it spotless;
Such care argueth debility, a garrison relying on its sentinel.
Passive strength shall scorn excuses, patiently waiting a re-action,