Tho’ Pontiff he, I swept him from my path.”
“My vicious mood led many where they fell;
I lied to them that they might serve me well.
No fiery couch was lit for heroes slain;
Now I could crawl o’er moldering bones, and fain
Would lick their dust—so low my haughty head—
I, lord of all! for whom their blood was shed.
A tyrant harsh, imbittered I became;
Nor could my soul’s rebuke awaken shame.
O Mother! drop thy tears; accurst for aye