Gentle in fibre, but of steadfast nerve <br />Still to do right though right won blame not praise, <br />And fallen on evil tongues and evil days <br />When men from plain straight duty twist and swerve, <br />And, born to nobly sway, ignobly serve, <br />Sliming their track to power through tortuous ways, <br />He felt, with that fine sense that ne'er betrays, <br />The line of moral beauty's not a curve. <br />But, proving wisdom folly, virtue vain, <br />He stretched his hands out to the other shore, <br />And was by kindred spirits beckoned o'er <br />Into the gloaming Land where setteth pain, <br />While we across the silent river strain <br />Idly our gaze, and find his form no more.<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stafford-henry-northcote/
