"Blind Chance, here play'd the butcher--'twas not I.
"Down, hands! ye shall not lift his fall'n head;
"What cords tug at ye? What? Ye'd pluck him up
"And staunch his wounds? There rises in my breast
"A strange, strong giant, throwing wide his arms
"And bursting all the granite of my heart!
"How like to quiv'ring flesh a stone may feel!
"Why, it has pangs! I'll none of them. I know
"Life is too short for anguish and for hearts--
"So I wrestle with thee, giant! and my will
"Turns the thumb, and thou shalt take the knife.
"Well done! I'll turn thee on the arena dust,
"And look on thee--What? thou wert Pity's self,
"Stol'n in my breast; and I have slaughter'd thee--
"But hist--where hast thou hidden thy fell snake,
"Fire-fang'd Remorse? Not in my breast, I know,
"For all again is chill and empty there,
"And hard and cold--the granite knitted up.
"So lie there, Max--poor fond and simple Max,
"'Tis well thou diest: earth's children should not call
"Such as thee father--let them ever be
"Father'd by rogues and villains, fit to cope
"With the foul dragon Chance, and the black knaves
"Who swarm'd in loathsome masses in the dust.
"True Max, lie there, and slumber into death."

* * * * *


PART V.