Thou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing From me; and thou wast wounded very sore, And beaten down, O son of Israel's king, Like wheat on threshing-flour. ...
'Twas brave De Quiros bent the knee before the King of Spain, And 'sire,' he said, 'I bring thy ships in safety home again From seas unsailed of mariner in all the days of yore,...
On the snow-line of the summit stood the Spaniard's English slave; And the frighted condor westward flew afar, Where the torch of Cotopaxi2 lit the wide Pacific wave,...
My youth was passing, Sire, whilst you among The cradle-wrappings slept; my morning-song Sung o'er your pillow. Winds of heaven have thrown Us both, since then, on heights apart and lone....