Pride

The Sage to the Young Man

O youth whose heart is right,
  Whose loins are girt to gain

The hell-defended height
  Where Virtue beckons plain;


Who seest the stark array
  And hast not stayed to count
But singly wilt assay
  The many-cannoned mount:


Well is thy war begun;
  Endure, be strong and strive;
But think not, O my son,
  To save thy soul alive.