I who perched,
An eagle on the topmost pinnacle
Of the State's eminence, and harried thence
All lesser fowl like sparrows!--I to hide
Like a chased moor-hen in a marsh, and bate
The breath that awed the world into a whisper,
That would not shake a taper-flame or stir
A flickering torch to flaring!
"_I do wonder_
_His insolence can brook to be commanded_
_Under_ COMINIUS." So the Roman said:
SICINIUS VELUTUS, thou hadst reason.
Under COMINIUS! Who's COMINIUS now?
The adolescent Emperor, or his cool
Complacent Chancellor? COMINIUS!
Unseasoned youth, or untried middle-age,
A shouting boy, or a sleek-spoken elder,
Hot stripling, cool supplanter!
I serve not
"Under COMINIUS," nay!--yet since he stands
There, where I made firm footing amidst chaos,
Stands in smug comfort where we Titans struggled--
MOLTKE, and I, and the great Emperor,--
Struggled for vantage, which he owes to us;--
Since he stands there, and I in shadow sit,
Silenced and chidden, I half _feel_ I serve,
Whom he would bid to second. Second _him_,
In that Imperial Policy whose vast
And soaring shape, like air-launched eagle, seemed
To fill the sky, and shadow half the world?