Classic Poem

Do I not know
That gentle blood (press't down howe'er you will,)
Will mount and make the world look gravely at it.
Dost deem that aught can hide in beggar rags
A heart so bold as mine? Have I not seen
The sea come tumbling on our heads, and laughed?
The lightnings on the line singe ships to ashes?
Heard the wolves howling on my track? and felt
That cannibals clustered round my hiding-place?
Have I not stood on Etna, when she shot
Her fiery rivers 'gainst the affrighted clouds?
And dream'st thou aught of common danger now
Shall daunt me from my way!