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We let them cage the Lion while the fire

In his high heart burnt clear and unsubdued; We let them stir that frank and forward mood From greatness to the self-consuming ire,

The fret and chafe that wait on service scorned,
Justice denied, and truth to silence driven;
From men we left him to appeal to Heaven,
'Gainst fraud set high, and evidence suborned-

We left him, with bound arms, to mark the sword,
Given to weak hands; left him, with working brain,
To see rogues traffic, and fools rashly reign,

Where Strength should have been guide, and Honour lord

Left him to cry aloud, without support,

Against the creeping things that eat away Our wooden walls, and boast as they betray, The base supporters of a baser Court,

The crawling worms that in corruption breed,
And on corruption batten, till at last
Mistaken honour the proud victim cast
Out to their spite, to writhe, and pant, and bleed

Under their stings and slime; and bleed he did
For years, till hope into heart-sickness grew,
And he sought other seas and service new,
And his bright sword in alien laurels hid.

Nor even so found gratitude, but came

Back to his England, bankrupt, save of praise, To eat his heart, through weary wishful days, And shape his strength to bearing of his shame.

Till, slow but sure, drew on a better time,

And statesmen owned the check of public will; And, at the last, light pierced the shadow chill That fouled his honour with the taint of crime.

And then they gave him back the Knightly spurs
Which he had never forfeited-the rank
From which he ne'er by ill-deserving sank,
More than the Lion sinks for yelp of curs.

Justice had lingered on its road too long;
The Lion was grown old; the time gone by,
When for his aid we vainly raised a cry,

To save our flag from shame, our decks from wrong.

The infamy is theirs, whose ev.l feed
Is past un bing; yet not guiltless we.
Who, penniless that brave i man would see
Restored to honour, but denied its meed

A Belisarius, old and sad and poor.

To our shame, not to his-so be Ived in
Till mans atted fo irscore years were a te
And scarcely then had leave to stablish sare

Proofs of his innocence, and their shame.

That had so wronged him; and, this i'te aze isa
To seal the assurance of his dying breath.

And wipe the last faint tarnish from his name

At last his fame stands fair, and fall of pears
He seeks that judgment which his wringers a
Have sought before him—and above nis "a..
His flag, replaced at length, waves with his peers.
He did not live to see it, but he knew

His country with one voice had set it high
And knowing this he was content to i.e.
And leave to gracious Heaven what might ensue.
Ashes to ashes! Lay the hero down,

No nobier heart e er knew the bitter 'ot
To be misjudged, maligned, accused, forrot—
Twine martyr palm among his victor's crawn

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We let them cage the Lion while the fire

In his high heart burnt clear and unsubdued; We let them stir that frank and forward mood From greatness to the self-consuming ire,

The fret and chafe that wait on service scorned,
Justice denied, and truth to silence driven;
From men we left him to appeal to Heaven,
'Gainst fraud set high, and evidence suborned-

We left him, with bound arms, to mark the sword,
Given to weak hands; left him, with working brain,
To see rogues traffic, and fools rashly reign,

Where Strength should have been guide, and Honour lord

Left him to cry aloud, without support,

Against the creeping things that eat away Our wooden walls, and boast as they betray, The base supporters of a baser Court,

The crawling worms that in corruption breed,
And on corruption batten, till at last
Mistaken honour the proud victim cast
Out to their spite, to writhe, and pant, and bleed

Under their stings and slime; and bleed he did
For years, till hope into heart-sickness grew,
And he sought other seas and service new,
And his bright sword in alien laurels hid.

Nor even so found gratitude, but came

Back to his England, bankrupt, save of praise, To eat his heart, through weary wishful days, And shape his strength to bearing of his shame.

Till, slow but sure, drew on a better time,

And statesmen owned the check of public will; And, at the last, light pierced the shadow chill That fouled his honour with the taint of crime.

And then they gave him back the Knightly spurs
Which he had never forfeited-the rank
From which he ne'er by ill-deserving sank,
More than the Lion sinks for yelp of curs.

Justice had lingered on its road too long;
The Lion was grown old; the time gone by,
When for his aid we vainly raised a cry,

To save our flag from shame, our decks from wrong.

The infamy is theirs, whose evil deed.
Is past undoing; yet not guiltless we,
Who, penniless that brave old man could see,
Restored to honour, but denied its meed.

A Belisarius, old and sad and poor,

To our shame, not to his-so he lived on,
Till man's allotted fourscore years were gone,
And scarcely then had leave to 'stablish sure

Proofs of his innocence, and their shame,

That had so wronged him; and, this done, came death,
To seal the assurance of his dying breath,

And wipe the last faint tarnish from his name.

At last his fame stands fair, and full of years
He seeks that judgment which his wrongers all
Have sought before him-and above his pall
His flag, replaced at length, waves with his peers.
He did not live to see it, but he knew

His country with one voice had set it high;
And knowing this he was content to die,
And leave to gracious Heaven what might ensue.

Ashes to ashes! Lay the hero down,

No nobler heart e'er knew the bitter lot
To be misjudged, maligned, accused, forgot—
Twine martyr's palm among his victor's crown.

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We let them cage the Lion while the fire

In his high heart burnt clear and unsubdued; We let them stir that frank and forward mood From greatness to the self-consuming ire,

The fret and chafe that wait on service scorned,
Justice denied, and truth to silence driven;
From men we left him to appeal to Heaven,
'Gainst fraud set high, and evidence suborned-

We left him, with bound arms, to mark the sword,
Given to weak hands; left him, with working brain,
To see rogues traffic, and fools rashly reign,

Where Strength should have been guide, and Honour lord

Left him to cry aloud, without support,

Against the creeping things that eat away Our wooden walls, and boast as they betray, The base supporters of a baser Court,

The crawling worms that in corruption breed,
And on corruption batten, till at last
Mistaken honour the proud victim cast
Out to their spite, to writhe, and pant, and bleed

Under their stings and slime; and bleed he did
For years, till hope into heart-sickness grew,
And he sought other seas and service new,
And his bright sword in alien laurels hid.

Nor even so found gratitude, but came

Back to his England, bankrupt, save of praise, To eat his heart, through weary wishful days, And shape his strength to bearing of his shame.

Till, slow but sure, drew on a better time,

And statesmen owned the check of public will; And, at the last, light pierced the shadow chill That fouled his honour with the taint of crime.

And then they gave him back the Knightly spurs
Which he had never forfeited-the rank
From which he ne'er by ill-deserving sank,
More than the Lion sinks for yelp of curs.

Justice had lingered on its road too long;
The Lion was grown old; the time gone by,
When for his aid we vainly raised a cry,
To save our flag from shame, our decks from wrong.

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