IN FRENCH FIELDS.
63
That height to which, born free in pathless woods,
I, without effort, from the first have reached.
To groan, to cry, to seek for any aid
Is cowardice. With energy and strength
Perform the long and often heavy task,
And walk in singleness of heart along
The way where fate has placed thee, whether smooth
Or rough it be. Fulfil thy calling high;
Then after that, like me, without complaint,
Suffer and die, nor care to leave a name.'
