From the deep trust of years,—
Of the proud laurels which thy brow has worn,
Dim with the rust of tears;
Of wrongs and treachery in the princely home
Thy genius earned;
Thy hearth made desolate, thy pathway lone,
Thy heart’s deep worship spurned;
Thy manly prayer for justice coldly met
With mocking jeers,
The seal of exile on thy forehead set