Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise

What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!

He sins against this life, who slights the next.

Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

Pygmies are pygmies still, though percht on Alps; And pyramids are pyramids in vales. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids; Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.

Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.