XXXI.

These are our nature’s heritage. But thou, The crown’d with empire! thou wert call’d to share A cup more bitter. On thy fever’d brow The semblance of that buoyant hope to wear, Which long had pass’d away; alone to bear The rush and pressure of dark thoughts, that came As a strong billow in their weight of care, And with all this to smile! For earth-born frame These are stern conflicts, yet they pass, unknown to fame!