Renew its fragrant idol-flowers.
So with the great in soul—whose bloom
Of Heart hath felt the thunder-doom
Which mankind, trusted, may bestow
On him who little dreamed the blow—
Theirs be the joy!—But ours the woe!
I was my father’s only child—
(The cherished scion of a race
Whose monuments of fame are piled
On glory’s mighty dwelling-place)