LXXVI
Be gracious to the King. You cannot feign
That nobody was tyrant, that the sword
Of justice always gave the just award
Before these Ghassanites began to reign.
LXXVII
You cultivate the ranks of golden grain,
He cultivates the cavaliers. They go
With him careering on some other foe,
And your battalions will be staunch again.
LXXVIII
The good law and the bad law disappear
Below the flood of custom, or they float
And, like the wonderful Sar'aby coat,
They captivate us for a little year.
LXXIX
God pities him who pities. Ah, pursue
No longer now the children of the wood;
Or have you not, poor huntsman, understood
That somebody is overtaking you?
LXXX
God is above. We never shall attain
Our liberty from hands that overshroud;
Or can we shake aside this heavy cloud
More than a slave can shake aside the chain?