Lo, tyrants tremble as they turn toward
Thee, pearled and panoplied in poesy,
Winged for the warfield, waiting wistfully
Thy ripe Republic of all rights restored.
Vulcan
“Lo! from Lemnos limping lamely
Lags the lowly lord of fire.”
Roared the fire before the bellows; glowed the forge’s dazzling crater;
Rang the hammers on the anvils, both the lesser and the greater;
Fell the sparks around the smithy, keeping rhythm to the clamor,