grow to greatness. —Now I die And all the issue of the coming days I leave to my successor, and my son, Though he has been a cruel son to me. Bassanius I name your Emperor, The new-made Antoninus, who long tried To get that title by the sword, Who sought my death, the dangers knowing not That always must surround a diadem, Forgetting that the places of the great Are guarded well by Envy and by Fear. Blind is ambition, for it cannot see That though a sovereign's power large may seem To others, by himself the things possessed Are counted small enough, aye small they are. For titles cannot make a happy man. While his thin thread of life must waver so, His might is laid upon a weak support. So men may point to me, and say 'Behold— A man who once was all things in this world, Yet now is nothing. For like meaner men[19] He paid his debt to nature. His exploits He left behind.' Aye, friends I leave my deeds For you to register. Reproach or praise The shadowing pencil of oblivion At last will blot. And yet that all the care That I have taken for the general good May bring forth happy fruits when I am dust, This would I make my one, my last request, —Assist my sons with counsel and with aid, That they may rule according to the law, And you obey according to the right. So, through you both—my legions and my sons— The Empire shall be held in high respect." And then the dying Emperor feebly turned Toward the urn wherein so soon must lie His ashes—and he cried "So shalt thou hold What the whole world one time could not contain." Thus died Severus. —Now I die [19] TOWN AND COUNTRY TOWN AND COUNTRY About the country they may talk who will, Who praise it ever to the town's despite. Let him extol the charms of wood and hill Who finds them peerless. None disputes his right. For me the town! Each well-worn footway old To me is dearer than your grass-grown lane. Not all who struggle here contend for gold; Green-growing things quit not the soul of pain. "God made the country." Ay, and God made man. Working through man His power He displays, And in the city's mazes His great plan Is writ as clear as in calm country ways. Who praise it ever to the town's despite. Who finds them peerless. None
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