Oh! why those narrow rules extol? These but restrain from ill, True virtue lies in strength of soul And energy of will. To all that's great and high aspires, Prompts to the path of fame From Heaven draws down Promethean fires And wraps the soul in flame. With brow erect, eye undismayed Confronts the midday sun, Nor sleeps inglorious in the shade Of praises cheaply won; Scans not too curiously the chance Of good or evil fate, But with a free and fearless glance Knocks at Hope's, golden gate; The truthful course pursues and knows By Heaven-imparted light, And scorns to shape to outward shows Its conscious sense of right. Still, while it renders Reason's name The meed of honour due Forgets not sacred instincts claim Their share of reverence too. The frown of unjust censure braves, Retreats not with the tide, But nobly stems and stills the waves Of prejudice and pride.