“To my sword’s hilt, and who, while stoop to me
All other lands, would win what rich or fair
This land contains, and have it mine in fee?”
—“Thou dost thyself proclaim that part or share
Thou hast not here.—O man of blood and sin,
Go back—with those blood-stainèd hands despair
“This place of love and holy peace to win:
This is the gate of righteousness, and they,
The righteous, only here may enter in.”
Around, before him, lightnings dart and play: