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| A FAIR-HAIRED slave of Sidon, what to him | |
| Her dream of empire and her fame? | |
| Chained to the trireme’s oar, defiant, grim, | |
| He cries his curses on her name. | |
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| And what to him her purple pride, her quest | 5 |
| For new dominions, unknown seas, | |
| And all the untouched wonders of the west, | |
| And apples of Hesperides? | |
| |
| Dull his poor eyes to pomp, and dead to dreams | |
| His withered heart; his Dacian home | 10 |
| All but forgot; faint and far-off the screams | |
| Of his young brood destroyed by Rome. | |
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| How can his sullen eyes see past the oar | |
| That holds him to his daily death? | |
| Can Sidon’s prayers for her great quest be more | 15 |
| To this dull slave than idle breath? | |
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| To him the cheers, the tumult on the quay, | |
| Are hollow echoes on the wind; | |
| The chiefs of Sidon seek the outer sea, | |
| Fame lures them far, and Fate is blind. * * * * * | 20 |
| But Sidon’s hopes were doomed, and fickle Fate | |
| Denied the splendid galley’s quest; | |
| Fate heard the slave’s prayer daily hissed in hate,— | |
| His quest was death, his hope was rest. | |
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