X.

My name from out the temple where the dead Are honoured by the Nations--let it be-- And light the Laurels on a loftier head! And be the Spartan's epitaph on me-- "Sparta hath many a worthier son than he."[387] Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need-- The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted,--they have torn me,--and I bleed: I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.