Sometimes, a thorn-crowned head with waving hair
Blood-clotted now, and stained a deeper hue;
And Hate seemed in the air vibrating round.
When sudden, like a bell that sweetly rings
Above a storm, and seems a messenger
Of Peace and Love, there woke upon his soul
From out the sleeping past, some prophet words:
“For homage goes with hate, and hate shall be
The measure of the homage that shall swell
In pæans great around the royal throne.”