And moves which seem fortuitous and blind
Are often those most cunningly designed.
In devious ways we may not understand,
Our steps are ordered by an Unseen Hand.
Proud queens, subservient pawns, with varied rôle,
Are vain components of the wondrous whole;
Life's pantomime, in figures complicate;
Men are but puppets on the wires of fate.
My native land, henceforth no longer mine,