XV.

It is enough that through such heavy hours As wring us by our fellowship of clay, I lived, and undegraded. We have powers To snatch th’ oppressor’s bitter joy away! Shall the wild Indian for his savage fame Laugh and expire, and shall not Truth’s high name Bear up her martyrs with all-conquering sway? It is enough that torture may be vain: I had seen Alvar die--the strife was won from Pain.