To do thy country service, thy self right;
That neither want do thee affright,
Nor death; but when thy latest sand is spent,
Thou mayst think life a thing but lent.’
Of all the poetical Epistles of this period, however, that of Daniel to the Countess of Cumberland, for weight of thought and depth of feeling, bears the palm. The reader will not peruse this effusion with less interest or pleasure, from knowing that it is a favourite with Mr. Wordsworth.
‘He that of such a height hath built his mind,
And rear’d the dwelling of his thoughts so strong,
As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame
Of his resolved pow’rs; nor all the wind
Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong