Of its great swashing blow?
He prates of Brandenburg, Iron and Blood,
In swelling royal rhetoric, but you hear
The clash of squadrons in war's sternest mood
In that "great building-time"; and the boy-cheer
Of him who, eager the State-bark to steer,
Snatched from your hands the helm,
Impetuous Palinurus of the realm,—
That cheer seems bitter and belated now,
Hollow, all sound and show!