And ever stabbed me with their venomed darts,
Till soul and body writhed in misery,
I strayed—a hunted mortal—sport of Fate.
Then, when 'twas worst, behold thy pictured face!
Calm, peaceful, resolute; thy comrades true
Around thee, "helmed and tall;" ah! then I knew
How angels strengthen us in time of need,
And from thy face drew solace for my smart.