DOST deem him weak that owns his strength is tried?
Nay, we may safely lean on him that grieves:
The pine has immemorially sighed,
The enduring poplar’s are the trembling leaves.

To feel, and bow the head, is not to fear;
To cheat with jest—that is the coward’s art:
Beware the laugh that battles back the tear;
He ’s false to all that ’s traitor to his heart.

He of great deeds does grope amid the throng
Like him whose steps toward Dagon’s temple bore;
There ’s ever something sad about the strong—
A look, a moan, like that on ocean’s shore.