To the slime-rooted and wind-shaken reed
That shivers in the shallows.
I who perched,
An eagle on the topmost pinnacle
Of the State's eminence, and harried thence
All lesser fowl like sparrows!—I to hide
Like a chased moor-hen in a marsh, and bate
The breath that awed the world into a whisper,
That would not shake a taper-flame or stir
A flickering torch to flaring!