At intervals along his frame;
The tremulously heaving breast,--
These signs the inward storm confessed:
Yet, through those signs of wo, there broke
Flashes of fearless thought, which spoke
A soul within, whose haughty will
Would wrestle with immortal ill,
And only quit the strife, when fate
Its being should annihilate.
Silent he stood, until the breeze
Bore from his lips some words like these.

V.

"The words I speak are no complaint
And if I breathe out my despair,
It is not that my heart grows faint,
Or shrinks from what 'tis doomed to bear.
Though every sorrow which may shake
Or rend man's heart, should pierce my own,
Their strength united, should not make
My lip breathe one complaining tone.
If I must suffer, it shall be
With a firm heart, a soul elate,
A wordless scorn, which silently
Shall mock the stern decrees of fate.
The weak might bend, the timid shrink,
Until misfortune's storm blew by,
But I, a chieftain's son, should drink
Its proffered cup without a sigh.