Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 369
Which o'er his brows the radiant image sheds
Of ever-living glory.
OSMOND.
Wealthy bard!
Warm keep thyself with that, and let conceit
Feed well the flame : then in the winter's depth
Thou mayst defy the frost.
LAN-IVAN.
Sarcastic lord !
Hadst thou no garments brighter than thy wit
Wherein to deck thy pride, full sure wouldst thou
Be beggarly arrayed.
JUDITH.
We will not brook
Such language in our halls. Now did thy merits
Transcend thy boundless arrogance, small here
Would be thine honours.
LAN-IVAN.
None do I expect :
It is not in your ignorance to bestow them 40
!
( )
If true it be what sages have declared,
That he whom Genius crowns is made a noble
By God himself, then his nobility
Must theirs surpass whom only kings make great,
Far as the morn outshines the glow-worm's light*
And, lady, know, that in the Poet's gift
Are honours, prouder even than from the proudest
He can himself receive. In better days
So England's princes thought, thus thought, and gave
The bard deservedly in hall and bower
Rank, and a lordly seat, and laurel wreath,
For well knew they his harp alone bestowed
Fame which can never die. (
41 )
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