While stands my bold soul these roaring black storms,
in hate against minstrels of sorrow and sloth,
th' old will-to-conquer my voice proudly exalts,
with no friendly eyes summoning to war.
Rueful sights of fall'n souls confounding life,
stripp'd of all dignity and thirst to fight,
unmoved saw i to spread from the north
fading the gleam of the spear and the sword.
I see now a way through our woods and their night,
to walk there the paths of improvement and rise,
to learn and advance from despair and from want,
and to reach victory by forging new arms.
So take all weights upon the wreckling back
and do defy the worst that can befall;
rejoicing in war, as in th' steepest paths,
my powers thus grow, my mind aims to might.
The blind poet bespoke: «Which way shall i fly,
infinite wrath, and infinite despair?»
Which way i fly is pride; myself am pride;
and may th' low'st deep be in fact a hidd'n height.
in hate against minstrels of sorrow and sloth,
th' old will-to-conquer my voice proudly exalts,
with no friendly eyes summoning to war.
Rueful sights of fall'n souls confounding life,
stripp'd of all dignity and thirst to fight,
unmoved saw i to spread from the north
fading the gleam of the spear and the sword.
I see now a way through our woods and their night,
to walk there the paths of improvement and rise,
to learn and advance from despair and from want,
and to reach victory by forging new arms.
So take all weights upon the wreckling back
and do defy the worst that can befall;
rejoicing in war, as in th' steepest paths,
my powers thus grow, my mind aims to might.
The blind poet bespoke: «Which way shall i fly,
infinite wrath, and infinite despair?»
Which way i fly is pride; myself am pride;
and may th' low'st deep be in fact a hidd'n height.