Alas, great Chief! The pity of it!--For he
Lay on his unlamented bier; his life
Wreck'd on that futile strife
To wed things alien by heaven's decree,
Sword-sway with liberty:--
Coercing, not protecting;--for the Cause
Smiting with iron heel on England's laws:
--Intolerant tolerance! Soul that could not trust
Its finer instincts; self-compell'd to run
The blood-path once begun,
And murder mercy with a sad 'I must!'
Great lion-heart by guile and coarseness marr'd;
By his own heat a hero warp'd and scarr'd.

Despot despite himself!--And when the cry
Moan'd up from England, dungeon'd in that drear
Sectarian atmosphere,
With glory he gilt her chains; in Spanish sky
Flaunting the Red Cross high;--
Wars, just or unjust, ill or well design'd,
Urged with the will that masters weak mankind.
--God's hammer Thou!--not hero!--Forged to break
The land,--salve wounds with wounds, heal force by force;
Sword-surgeon keen and coarse:--
To all who worship power for power's own sake,--
Strength for itself,--Success, the vulgar test,--
Fit idol of bent knee, and servile breast!

--O in the party plaudits of the crowd
Glorious, if this be glory!--o'er that shout