No sad submission yields he to his fate,
So long as solace comes to him from hate,
Or hope from vengeance. In his eyes, ye trace
No single look to recompense disgrace;
With no ambition checked, no passion hushed,
No pride o’erthrown, no fond delusion crushed;
With every fire alive that ever swayed,
His soul as lordly as when most obeyed,
He broods o’er wrongs, forgetful of his own,
And from his heart hears vengeance cry alone.