Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/104

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"It was some satrap's palace, sure,   In old time, far away, Or else of some great Christian prince,    I've heard my father say," "Arab! it was King Herod's dome;   'Twas there he feasted, free, His captains, and the chief estates,    And lords of Galilee;

"'Twas there the impious dancer's heel   Lured his rash soul astray." But, ere the earnest tale was told, The ploughman turn'd away. O ruthless king! thy vaunted pomp And power avail thee not, Who here, beside thy palace-gates, Art by the serf forgot:

Yet he whose blood in prison-cell By thy decree was spilt, Whose head, upon the charger brought, Appeased revengeful guilt, His name, amid a deathless page, Gleams forth with living ray, While all thy royalty and pride Are swept like foam away.