CXXXV.

That curse shall be Forgiveness.--Have I not-- Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven!-- Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? Have I not suffered things to be forgiven? Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven, Hopes sapped, name blighted, Life's life lied away? And only not to desperation driven, Because not altogether of such clay As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.

CXXXVI.[or]

From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy Have I not seen what human things could do? From the loud roar of foaming calumny To the small whisper of the as paltry few-- And subtler venom of the reptile crew, The Janus glance[510] of whose significant eye, Learning to lie with silence, would _seem_ true-- And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy.