But in the western sky,
Like sweet Europa, Love’s fair star delayed,
To hang her garland on thy silver horn.
Thou giv’st that temper of enduring mould,
That slights the wayward bent of Destiny —
Such as sent forth the shaggy Jarls of old
To launch their dragons on the unknown sea:
Such as kept strong the sinews of the sword,
The proud, hot blood of battle—welcome made
The headsman’s axe, the rack, the martyr-fire,