_Ad generem Cereris sine cæde et vulnere pauci Descendunt reges, aut siccâ morte tyranni._
By no dry death another king goes down The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice, For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice That one sign more is given against the crown, That one more head those dark red waters drown Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys As human hearts that shrink at human frown. The name writ red on Polish earth, the star That was to outshine our England's in the far East heaven of empire--where is one that saith Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar? "In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath, Few tyrants perish by no violent death."
[Greek: eu mên hê timên edidou nikêphoros alkê ek nikês onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.]
A year ago red wrath and keen despair Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent Laid low the lord not all omnipotent Who stood most like a god of all that were As gods for pride of power, till fire and air Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent The heart of empire's lurid firmament, And laid the mortal core of manhood bare. But when the calm crowned head that all revere For valour higher than that which casts out fear, Since fear came near it never, comes near death, Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath Since England wept upon Elizabeth.
O son of man, by lying tongues adored, By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod In carnage deep as ever Christian trod Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde, Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod, Most murderous even of all that call thee God, Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord; Face loved of little children long ago, Head hated of the priests and rulers then, If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine Run ravening as the Gadarean swine, Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow In death's worst hour the works of Christian men?
Not all disgraced, in that Italian town, The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand, Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand, And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown, Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band. But now the princely wielder of his land, For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down, No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread Can bruise not now the proud submitted head: But how much more abased, much lower brought low, And more intolerably humiliated, The neck submissive of the prosperous foe, Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow!