God help the man who mortgages his life
For patriot dues! Henceforward he is safe
No more. His noblest virtues only chafe
The hydra that he serves to lust of strife.
His self-respect, his every social tie,
All that for which the world's best heroes fight
Must be surrendered, or, unless he die,
He is a slave-mayhap a despot slave,
Like Dionysius, fearful of the light,
Or Belisarius, begging to his grave
Through streets o'er which his conquering banners wave.
And his reward-to have poor poets sigh
Above his dust the requiem of the brave.