A Hero

HE sang of joy; whate'er he knew of sadnessHe kept for his own heart's peculiar share:So well he sang, the world imagined gladnessTo be sole tenant there.

For dreams were his, and in the dawn's fair shining,His spirit soared beyond the mounting lark;But from his lips no accent of repiningFell when the days grew dark;

And though contending long dread Fate to master,He failed at last her enmity to cheat,He turned with such a smile to face disasterThat he sublimed defeat.