II
Claude to Eustace
Dulce it is, and decorum, no doubt, for the country to fall,—toOffer one’s blood an oblation to Freedom, and die for the Cause; yetStill, individual culture is also something, and no manFinds quite distinct the assurance that he of all others is called on,Or would be justified even, in taking away from the world thatPrecious creature, himself. Nature sent him here to abide here;Else why send him at all? Nature wants him still, it is likely;On the whole, we are meant to look after ourselves; it is certainEach has to eat for himself, digest for himself, and in generalCare for his own dear life, and see to his own preservation;Nature’s intentions, in most things uncertain, in this are decisive;Which, on the whole, I conjecture the Romans will follow, and I shall.So we cling to our rocks like limpets; Ocean may bluster,Over and under and round us; we open our shells to imbibe ourNourishment, close them again, and are safe, fulfilling the purposeNature intended,—a wise one, of course, and a noble, we doubt not.Sweet it may be and decorous, perhaps, for the country to die; but,On the whole, we conclude the Romans won’t do it, and I sha’n’t.