And Phidian hand inspired! Ah fool, that hour Athens lay bound, a slave! Later to Rome In secrecy by Mithridates sent To search the inmost of his hated foe, For thee I claimed that discipline of Law Which made her State one camp. Fool, fool once more! Soon learned I what a heart-pollution lurked Beneath that mask of Law. As Persia fell, By softness sapped, so Rome. Behold, this day, Following the Pole Star of my just revenge, I lead my people forth to clearer fates Through cloudier fortunes. They are brave and strong: 'Tis but the rose-breath of their vale that rots Their destiny's bud unblown. I lead them forth, A race war-vanquished, not a race of slaves; Lead them, not southward to Euphrates' bank, Not Eastward to the realms of rising suns, Not West to Rome and bondage. Hail, thou North! Hail, boundless woods, by nameless oceans girt, And snow-robed mountain islets, founts of fire! Four hundred years! I know that awful North: I sought it when the one flower of my life Fell to my foot. That anguish set me free: It dashed me on the iron side of life: I woke, a man. My people too shall wake: They shall have icy crags for myrtle banks, Sharp rocks for couches. Strength! I must have strength; Not splenetic sallies of a woman's courage, But hearts to which self-pity is unknown: Hard life to them must be as mighty wine Gladdening the strong: the death on battle fields Must seem the natural, honest close of life; Their fear must be to die without a wound And miss Life's after-banquet. Wooden shield Whole winter nights shall lie their covering sole: Thereon the boy shall stem the ocean wave; Thereon the youth shall slide with speed of winds Loud-laughing down the snowy mountain-slope: To him the Sire shall whisper as he bleeds, 'Remember the revenge? Thy son must prove More strong, more hard than thou!' Four hundred years! Increase is tardy in that icy clime, For Death is there the awful nurse of Life: Death rocks the cot. Why meet we there no wolf Save those huge-limbed? Because weak wolf-cubs die. 'Tis thus with man; 'tis thus with all things strong:-- Rise higher on thy northern hills, my Pine! That Southern Palm shall dwindle. House stone-walled-- Ye shall not have it! Temples cedar-roofed-- Ye shall not build them! Where the Temple stands The City gathers. Cities ye shall spurn: Live in the woods; live singly, winning each, Hunter or fisher by blue lakes, his prey: Abhor the gilded shrine: the God Unknown In such abides not. On the mountain's top Great Persia sought Him in her day of strength: With her ye share the kingly breed of Truths, The noblest inspirations man hath known, Or can know--ay, unless the Lord of all