'Tis on the reindeer, hope, in speed with me
To the grand morning, when thou shalt breathe free
Upon the apex of thine Alpine climbing,
From foulsome, choaking smells of tyranny,
Thick from the Great Sea Serpent's inland sliming.
V
God said to Wrong: "No further shalt thou go."
This, Monroe heard and held, then, in his heart.
It was this he repeated, when on chart