Moments of Vision, 3

Then spoke a low, clear voice to me and said:
"What knew the boy of the hot strife for fame,
Or love that often slighted turns to shame?
Ambition's curse you drew upon your head,
And with strange food unnatural hungers stayed;
Then ghosts, with tongues against you to declaim.
With cruel, deriding lips, and eyes of flame.
Filled all your sleep with sorrow and sick dread.

"Good gifts I, Nature, gave you, — storm and rest,
Sundawn and sunset, and the shade profound.
' Good gifts! ' you laugh, ' but man must be renowned,
So I will forth, nor weary in the quest
Till mighty gods my ambitions brows have crowned.'
Lp, the lost child! Lo, the forsaken breast!"