Even in a palace, life may be led well!
 So spake the imperial sage, purest of men,
 Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den
 Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,

 Our freedom for a little bread we sell,
 And drudge under some foolish master's ken
 Who rates us if we peer outside our pen--
 Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell?

 Even in a palace! On his truth sincere,
 Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came;
 And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame

 Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win,
 I'll stop, and say: 'There were no succour here!
 The aids to noble life are all within.'