hy, no creation, but only his life, his Roman life felt in every pulse, realized in every gesture.
The universal heaven takes in the Roman only to make us feel his individuality the more.
The Will, the Resolve of Man!—it has been expressed,— fully expressed!
I steadily loved this ideal in my childhood, and this is the cause, probably, why I have always felt that man must know how to stand firm on the ground, before he can fly. In vain for me are men more, if they are less, than Romans.
Dante was far greater than any Roman, yet I feel he was right to take the Mantuan as his guide through hell, and to heaven.
Horace was a great deal to me then, and is so still.
Though his words do not abide in memory, his presence does: serene, courtly, of darting hazel eye, a selfsufficient grace, and an appreciation of the world of stern realities, sometimes pathetic, never tragic.
He is the natural man of the world; he is what he ought to be, and his darts never fail of their aim. There i