Whose ears have long been heedless of thy calls;
Sad monument of pomp that once hath been,
Thy staring eyes mark ever the same scene
Of levelled muskets, and a corpse which falls,
Dabbled in blood, beneath the city walls--
Though twenty years have rolled their tides between.

Not of this world thy vengeance! They have passed,
Traitor and victim, to the shadow-land.
Not of this world thy joy; but, when at last
Reason returns in Paradise, its hand
Shall join the shattered links of thought again,
Save those that form this interval of pain.




_EQUALITY._


Mad fools! To think that men can be
Made equal all, when God
Made one well nigh divinity
And one a soulless clod.

Nowhere in Nature can we find
Things equal, save in death,
One man must rule with thoughtful mind,
One serve with panting breath.