Their sceptre-swords before my throne,
And lost their empires at my frown?
Or deemest thou, impotent and base,
That I, of eldest earthly race,
Will thread in slow procession pace
Rome’s proud triumphal way—
A crownless queen, a shameless slave,
Beside thy golden chariot’s nave,
With fettered heads supine to crave
Plebeian pity—Roman ruth—