XXXVI.

Grand though thy trophies, ne’er by land or main Shall War’s barbarian triumphs wake thy pride; No blood-stained laurels shall thy forehead stain, But Peace with olive branch o’ershadowing bide, And mark the Godhead in thy empire wide. Not human anguish but new joy to Man Thy limbs shall shed in their colossal stride; Foredoomed despotic wrath and wrong to ban, And make creation square with the Eternal plan!