Won through all peril to his sunset barbican,

Where he wields his seignorie!

And crowns he gave us! We end where we began:

A catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan,

The King of all the Kings across the sea!”

Those mad, antic Merchants!... Their stripèd beasts did beat |And are in
Terror,|

The market-square suddenly with hooves of beaten gold!

The ground yawned gaping and flamed beneath our feet!

They plunged to Pits Abysmal with their wealth untold!

And some say the Chan himself in anger dealt the stroke— |And dread it is
Devil’s Work!|