Eyeing ever, with earnest eye And quick-turned neck at its breathless stretch, Some one who ever is passing by)
The Duke had sighed like the simplest wretch In Florence, "Youth--my dream escapes! Will its record stay?" And he bade them fetch
Some subtle moulder of brazen shapes-- "Can the soul, the will, die out of a man 200 Ere his body find the grave that gapes?
"John of Douay shall effect my plan, Set me on horseback here aloft, Alive, as the crafty sculptor can,
"In the very square I have crossed so oft: That men may admire, when future suns Shall touch the eyes to a purpose soft,
"While the mouth and the brow stay brave in bronze-- Admire and say, 'When he was alive How he would take his pleasure once!' 210
"And it shall go hard but I contrive To listen the while, and laugh in my tomb At idleness which aspires to strive."
So! While these wait the trump of doom, How do their spirits pass, I wonder, Nights and days in the narrow room?
Still, I suppose, they sit and ponder What a gift life was, ages ago, Six steps out of the chapel yonder.
Only they see not God, I know, 220 Nor all that chivalry of his, The soldier-saints who, row on row,
Burn upward each to his point of bliss-- Since, the end of life being manifest, He had burned his way thro' the world to this.
I hear you reproach, "But delay was best, For their end was a crime." Oh, a crime will do As well, I reply, to serve for a test,
As a virtue golden through and through, Sufficient to vindicate itself 230 And prove its worth at a moment's view!
Must a game be played for the sake of pelf Where a button goes, 'twere an epigram To offer the stamp of the very Guelph.
The true has no value beyond the sham: As well the counter as coin, I submit, When your table's a hat, and your prize a dram.
Stake your counter as boldly every whit, Venture as warily, use the same skill, Do your best, whether winning or losing it, 240
If you choose to play!--is my principle. Let a man contend to the uttermost For his life's set prize, be it what it will!
The counter our lovers staked was lost As surely as if it were lawful coin: And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost
Is--the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, Though the end in sight was a vice, I say. You of the virtue (we issue join) How strive you? De te, fabula! 250