GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi001.perseus-eng2:3.2.1-3.2.20 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi001.perseus-eng2:3.2.1-3.2.20

To suffer hardness with good cheer,In sternest school of warfare bred,Our youth should learn; let steed and spearMake him one day the Parthian's dread;Cold skies, keen perils, brace his life.Methinks I see from rampired townSome battling tyrant's matron wife,Some maiden, look in terror down,—“Ah, my dear lord, untrain'd in war!O tempt not the infuriate moodOf that fell lion I see! from farHe plunges through a tide of blood!“What joy, for fatherland to die!Death's darts e'en flying feet o'ertake,Nor spare a recreant chivalry,A back that cowers, or loins that quake.True Virtue never knows defeat:Her robes she keeps unsullied still,Nor takes, nor quits, her curule seatTo please a people's veering will.