And the stricken warrior is glad, that his wounds are salved with glory. For fame is a sweet self-homage, an offering grateful to the idol, A spiritual nectar for the spiritual thirst, a mental food for mind, A pregnant evidence to all of an after immaterial existence, A proof that soul is scatheless, when its dwelling is dissolved. And the manifold pleasures of fame are sought by the guilty and the good: Pleasures, various in kind, and spiced to every palate: The thoughtful loveth fame as an earnest of better immortality, The industrious and deserving, as a symbol of just appreciation, The selfish, as a promise of advancement, at least to a man's own kin, And common minds, as a flattering fact that men have been told of their existence. There is a blameless love of fame, springing from desire of justice, When a man hath featly won and fairly claimed his honours: And then fame cometh as encouragement to the inward consciousness of merit, Gladdening by the kindliness and thanks, wherewithal his labours are rewarded. But there is a sordid imitation, a feverish thirst for notoriety, Waiting upon vanity and sloth, and utterly regardless of deserving: And then fame cometh as a curse; the fire-damp is gathered in the mine: The soul is swelled with poisonous air, and a spark of temptation shall explode it. Idle causes, noised awhile, shall yield most active consequents, And therefore it were ill upon occasion to scorn the voice of rumour. Ye have seen the chemist in his art mingle invisible gases; And lo, the product is a substance, a heavy dark precipitate: Even so fame, hurtling on the quiet with many meeting tongues, Can out of nothing bring forth fruits, and blossom on a nourishment of air. For many have earned honour, and thereby rank and riches, From false and fleeting tales, some casual mere mistake; And many have been wrecked upon disgrace, and have struggled with poverty and scorn, From envious hints and ill reports, the slanders cast on innocence. Whom may not scandal hit? those shafts are shot at a venture: Who standeth not in danger of suspicion? that net hath caught the noblest. Cæsar's wife was spotless, but a martyr to false fame; And Rumour, in temporary things, is gigantic as a ruin or a remedy: Many poor and many rich have testified its popular omnipotence, And many a panic-stricken army hath perished with the host of the Assyrians.