IN lonely toil my manhood has been spent, Spurning all ties of home, all joyance free; And now my heart is sick, my frame is bent, And I would sleep, but rest is not for me. Two gifts I seek, two wondrous powers unknown Shall yield their treasures to my dauntless mind; The meaner, boundless wealth to me alone; The nobler, endless life for all mankind. My star of distant hope doth far transcend All dew-drop glories, that around me lie: With Nature I will struggle to the end; Conquer I must, though conquering I should die. Though I should die, ere I have tasted life, Losing the heritage I give to all; Though, as I grasp the trophy of the strife, My battle-wearied arm should powerless fall. I conquer still, though strength may not be mine To drink the cup my dying hand prepares; My life, but not my triumph I resign, For all mankind shall be my deathless heirs. I care not who the victor's crown may wear, I care not, though my bones neglected lie: This is my latest, this my only prayer -- Come life, come death, let not my wisdom die. Yet oh! sweet Life, for whom I long have served, Whose glorious beauty I from far have seen, Not this reward thy votary deserved, Not this thy warrior's guerdon should have been. Oh no, it cannot be! for I shall live, And priceless bounty royally impart, And life and love, and wealth and gladness give, Dug from the treasure cavern of my heart. I still will hope, and struggle for the crown; Night shall not come, before I grasp the truth; For I will yet behold my just renown, And feel at last the fresh delight of youth. |