Winchester Daily Bulletin

'Tis the Mind that Makes Nobility.
In ancient time when feudal state
Was all the untaught serf deemed great—
When tilts were won where fair ones sate
Rebuking imbecility—
When the stout arm was valued most.
And sturdy spirits power could boast.
To rule a realm, or rout a host,
Might seemed to be nobility.
And when of chivalry grown tired,
The world with love of wealth was fired,
And brute strength in arms expired
Of cunning and servility:
The patient plodder who could best
Resign his claim to peace and rest,
Got gold, or rank, and thus was blest
With what looked like nobility.
But lawless force has been laid low;
Wealth's power must meet its overthrow:
And Reason, rousing at the blow,
Shall, by her grand fertility,
Plan greatly for the poor man's good,
Prove human kind a brotherhood,
And make it owned—felt—understood.
That blood hath no nobility.
Look up, then, thou who art oppressed
By those whom fortune hath caressed—
Who have thy bosom oft distressed
By slander and scurrility:
Learn all thou canst; be Heaven adored;
Keep faith, whate'er the fates afford;
Enjoy, and truckle to no lord:―
'Tis mind that makes nobility.