Rex Captivus
Born to be Prince of the Air, and the great Sun's peer and
brother, Who alone might meet his eye in the infinite heights of
blue, Butt of the vulgar and lewd, in the ruck of my pen I
smother :
Yet King ! Ye have said it ! Is my discredit Not greater disgrace for you ?
Men if ye still be men, not blind, unreasoning cattle See what the work of your hands hath made of the work
of God ! These tabid things were once such wings as flash on your
flags in battle, And benisons put on every foot
Of your hardly-ransomed sod !
To me the faith of your fathers its resolute eyes uplifted, I poised on your earliest banners, I routed your youngest
foe,
I was borne in your van of late, where the Spanish smoke- bank drifted : Is all forgotten, that, smirched and rotten,
You make of me squalid show?
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