IN. Nay, failed I now, what were my years of toil More than the endurance of a harnessed brute, Flogged to his daily work, that cannot view 710 The high design to which his labour steps? And I of all men were dishonoured most Shrinking in fear, who never shrank from toil, And found abjuring, thrusting stiffly back, The very gift for which I stretched my hands. What though I suffer? are these wintry years Of growing desolation to be held As cherishable as the suns of spring? Nay, only joyful can they be in seeing Long hopes accomplished, long desires fulfilled. 720 And since thou hast touched ambition on the side Of nobleness, and stirred my proudest hope, And wilt fulfil this, shall I count the cost? Rather decay will triumph, and cold death Be lapped in glory, seeing strength arise From weakness, from the tomb go forth a flame. PR. 'Tis well; thou art exalted now, the grace Becomes thy valiant spirit. IN. Lo! on this day Which hope despaired to see, hope manifests A vision bright as were the dreams of youth; 730 When life was easy as a sleeper's faith Who swims in the air and dances on the sea; When all the good that scarce by toil is won, Or not at all is won, is as a flower Growing in plenty to be plucked at will: Is it a dream again or is it truth, This vision fair of Greece inhabited? A fairer sight than all fair Iris sees, Footing her airy arch of colours spun From Ida to Olympus, when she stays 740 To look on Greece and thinks the sight is fair; Far fairer now, clothed with the works of men.