XIX.
Set down thy people's faults:—set down the want
Of soul-conviction; set down aims dispersed,
And incoherent means, and valour scant
Because of scanty faith, and schisms accursed
That wrench these brother-hearts from covenant
With freedom and each other. Set down this
And this, and see to overcome it when
The seasons bring the fruits thou wilt not miss
If wary. Let no cry of patriot men
Distract thee from the stern analysis
Of masses who cry only: keep thy ken
Clear as thy soul is virtuous. Heroes' blood
Splashed up against thy noble brow in Rome.—
Let such not blind thee to the interlude
Which was not also holy, yet did come
'Twixt sacramental actions:-brotherhood,
Despised even there,—and something of the doom
Of Remus, in the trenches. Listen now—
Rossi died silent near where Cæsar died.
He did not say, "My Brutus, is it thou?"
Instead, rose Italy and testified,
"'Twas I, and I am Brutus,—I avow."
At which the whole world's laugh of scorn replied,
"A poor maimed copy of Brutus!"
Too much like,
Indeed, to be so unlike. Too unskilled
At Philippi and the honest battle-pike,
To be so skilful where a man is killed
Near Pompey's statue, and the daggers strike
At unawares i' the throat. Was thus fulfilled
An omen of great Michel Angelo,—
