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.