Him counterfeits enough; and so their print Be on the piece, 'tis gold, attests the mint. And "good," pronounce they whom his new appeal Is made to: if their casual print conceal-- This arbitrary good of theirs o'ergloss What he has lived without, nor felt the loss-- Qualities strange, ungainly, wearisome, --What matter? So must speech expand the dumb Part-sigh, part-smile with which Sordello, late Whom no poor woodland-sights could satiate, Betakes himself to study hungrily Just what the puppets his crude fantasy Supposes notablest,--popes, kings, priests, knights,-- May please to promulgate for appetites; Accepting all their artificial joys Not as he views them, but as he employs Each shape to estimate the other's stock Of attributes, whereon--a marshalled flock Of authorized enjoyments--he may spend Himself, be men, now, as he used to blend With tree and flower--nay more entirely, else 'T were mockery: for instance, "How excels My life that chieftain's?" (who apprised the youth Ecelin, here, becomes this month, in truth, Imperial Vicar?) "Turns he in his tent Remissly? Be it so--my head is bent Deliciously amid my girls to sleep. What if he stalks the Trentine-pass? Yon steep I climbed an hour ago with little toil: We are alike there. But can I, too, foil The Guelf's paid stabber, carelessly afford Saint Mark's a spectacle, the sleight o' the sword Baffling the treason in a moment?" Here No rescue! Poppy he is none, but peer To Ecelin, assuredly: his hand, Fashioned no otherwise, should wield a brand With Ecelin's success--try, now! He soon Was satisfied, returned as to the moon From earth: left each abortive boy's attempt [Sidenote: Has qualities impossible to a boy,] For feats, from failure happily exempt, In fancy at his beck. "One day I will Accomplish it! Are they not older still --Not grown up men and women? 'T is beside Only a dream; and though I must abide With dreams now, I may find a thorough vent For all myself, acquire an instrument For acting what these people act; my soul Hunting a body out may gain its whole Desire some day!" How else express chagrin And resignation, show the hope steal in With which he let sink from an aching wrist The rough-hewn ash-bow? Straight, a gold shaft hissed Into the Syrian air, struck Malek down Superbly! "Crosses to the breach! God's Town Is gained him back!" Why bend rough ash-bows more? Thus lives he: if not careless as before, Comforted: for one may anticipate, Rehearse the future, be prepared when fate Shall have prepared in turn real men whose names Startle, real places of enormous fames, Este abroad and Ecelin at home To worship him,--Mantua, Verona, Rome To witness it. Who grudges time so spent?