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out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair of
 * slaves,

Like lightning it le’pt forth, half startled at itself, Its feet upon the ashes and the rags—its hands tight
 * to the throats of kings.

O hope and faith! O aching close of exiled patriots' lives! O many a sickened heart! Turn back unto this day, and make yourselves
 * afresh.

And you, paid to defile the People! you liars, mark! Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts, For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, worming
 * from his simplicity the poor man's wages,

For many a promise sworn by royal lips, and broken,
 * and laughed at in the breaking,

Then in their power, not for all these did the blows
 * strike revenge, or the heads of the nobles fall;

The People scorned the ferocity of kings.

But the sweetness of mercy brewed bitter destruction,
 * and the frightened rulers come back, (283)