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FRIEDERICH WERNER
The Templars in Cyprus
page 140
Thoa art a hero—Nay, far more than this.
Thou art a Man !—and 'tia my pride and 'ti*
Tho aolaco of my age, thou'rt such through me.
My valiant Robert ! only a weakling'* string*
Lie shattered by tho iron hand of Fate.
Fearless, tho lofty.»ouI'd lay* bare to fate
Tho harp which tho Creator'* liand luu aet
Within hi* bosom. Fate may strain tho string*,
Vet not destroy tho innermost accord
( f glorious tones, and soon tho dissonance
Will melt again in purest harmony,
Because Clod's peace is breathing through tho chord*.
Strong-hearted Robert ! Shall tho stalwart man
Succumb, or rise triumphant from the dust t
ROBERT.
My Father !—
MoutT.
Shall the unalloyed truo man Be slavo to his environmeuts, or free ? Shall he not pluck from each storm-blast,—nay, more, "From all the fond allurements of this life, His purer Self 'i—Tho cosmos in his breast, Fart is't o' tho elemental aggregate ; And shall not Nature's ferment, working there, Upheavo him also ? Man ! can'st thou succumb ?—
RoREKT.
Yet there aro moments—
MOLAT.
Yes, in truth thero are. But—God bo thanked,—they're moments only, when Subdued by mightier Nature's forces, man Kstecms his higher self a sport for waves. In moments such as these, tho Godhead shows The distance yawning 'twixt itself and us. And castigate* the impious prido of man Aspiring to equality, and casts
sc. II.]
TIIK TtMlLAI.- IX .111.1-
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