What makes a hero?--not success, not fame,
Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim
Of glutted avarice--caps tossed up in air,
Or pen of journalist with flourish fair;
Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name--
These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare;
His rightful tribute, not his end or aim,
Or true reward; for never yet did these
Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease.
What makes a hero?--An heroic mind,
Expressed in action, in endurance proved.
And if there be preeminence of right,
Derived through pain well suffered, to the height
Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved
Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind,
Not the brute fury of barbarians blind,
But worse--ingratitude and poisonous darts,
Launched by the country he had served and loved.
This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure,
This, in the strength of silence to endure,
A dignity to noble deeds imparts
Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown;
This is the hero's complement and crown;
This missed, one struggle had been wanting still--
One glorious triumph of the heroic will,
One self-approval in his heart of hearts.
--Henry Taylor.
As the bird trims her to the gale
I trim myself to the storm of time;
I man the rudder, reef the sail,
Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime;
"Lowly faithful banish fear,
Right onward drive unharmed;
The port, well worth the cruise, is near,
And every wave is charmed."
--Ralph Waldo Emerson.