Britain ... - Blue-Lite

128 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I.
GODWIN.
But fame eudureth in its endless course,
Unchanging as the everlasting sun.
WULFNOTH
Fame ! what is fame ? A passing meteor blaze,
That one brief moment shines,
the next, is nothing.
What numbers, once by deeds of glory fired
With the vain hope of ever-living fame,
In dark forgetfulness have ages slept.
From which no trump can call them to remembrance !
Where are the brazen statues, pillars, towers,
The marble tombs that immortality
Promised to those whose names they registered ?
Dashed, with their founders, by oblivions wing
To undistinguished dust !
GODWIN.
Most true: but when Fve bravely shaken off
This forest sloth, which heavily doth hang
On all my energies,
like a black cloud
Hiding the sunshine from the mountain's brow,
I'll win such martial glory as shall live
Till the proud annals of my country die.
WULFNOTH.
High-aiming youth, think of the cost, if won ;
And when obtained, how worthless for thy pains !
Thou'lt find, my son, the unfaithful court a place
Where traitors thrive, and fawning knaves are cherished ;
Where merit, if found poor, no friends can win,
While wealthy fools are worshipped ;
Must flatter bloated pride, thy knee bend low
To gold-clad baseness ;
and where Envy waits
where thy tongue
To thrust thee back at every step thou climb'st
In thy aspiring aims.