|This age that’s with us is your angel of death,|
Its bread and butter cares catch your soul’s breath.
Your heart recoils from shock of combat; life
Is death, that deadens in men the joy of strife.
Learning estranged you from such exaltation
As would not let man’s mind desert its station;
A falcon’s eyes were yours by Nature’s right,
Slavishness left them only a poor wren’s sight,
And the schools hid from them those mysteries
That yield to hill’s and deserts still assize.