Book III: Song V: Self-mastery

41 of 80 · 1 min of reading

Who on power sets his aim,

First must his own spirit tame;

He must shun his neck to thrust

'Neath th' unholy yoke of lust.

For, though India's far-off land

Bow before his wide command,

Utmost Thule homage pay--

If he cannot drive away

Haunting care and black distress,

In his power, he's powerless.

VI.

'Again, how misleading, how base, a thing ofttimes is glory! Well does

the tragic poet exclaim:

'"Oh, fond Repute, how many a time and oft

Hast them raised high in pride the base-born churl!"

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End of part 41 of 80