A nation's power I held in sway;
I broke the gives from freedom's graves,
And steam and lightning I bound my slaves.

I flung my starred robe on the breeze,
From burning tropic to arctic cold.
On distant isles, in distant seas,
A foot-hold gained with sword and gold.
Atlantic's slope and Pacific's strand
I bound together with an iron band.

But of late I've premature grown old;
There's something wrong with the clothes I wear;
There is something wrong with the helm I hold,
Else I hold it wrong,--there's wrong somewhere.
Disease too has thrown me his poisoned dart;
His workman are "striking" right at my heart.

My head is so strangely vision thrilled
With plans to evade the demon's stay,
But all the plots that my brain have filled
Only have served to augment his sway,
And on my feet, at the sunset's door,
Is spreading a troublesome grievous sore.

I'm growing ill I can plainly see,
And many prescribe my pain to ease,
But somehow each medicine proves to be
"A remedy worse than the disease."
Though strong as ever, should once my strength