| |
| BEFORE proud Rome’s imperial throne | |
| In mind’s unconquered mood, | |
| As if the triumph were his own, | |
| The dauntless captive stood. | |
| None, to have seen his free-born air, | 5 |
| Had fancied him a captive there. | |
| |
| Though, through the crowded streets of Rome, | |
| With slow and stately tread, | |
| Far from his own loved island home, | |
| That day in triumph led,— | 10 |
| Unbound his head, unbent his knee, | |
| Undimmed his eye, his aspect free. | |
| |
| A free and fearless glance he cast | |
| On temple, arch, and tower, | |
| By which the long procession passed | 15 |
| Of Rome’s victorious power; | |
| And somewhat of a scornful smile | |
| Upcurled his haughty lip the while. | |
| |
| And now he stood, with brow serene, | |
| Where slaves might prostrate fall, | 20 |
| Bearing a Briton’s manly mien | |
| In Cæsar’s palace hall; | |
| Claiming, with kindled brow and cheek, | |
| The liberty e’en there to speak. | |
| |
| Nor could Rome’s haughty lord withstand | 25 |
| The claim that look preferred, | |
| But motioned with uplifted hand | |
| The suppliant should be heard,— | |
| If he indeed a suppliant were | |
| Whose glance demanded audience there. | 30 |
| |
| Deep stillness fell on all the crowd, | |
| From Claudius on his throne | |
| Down to the meanest slave that bowed | |
| At his imperial throne; | |
| Silent his fellow-captive’s grief | 35 |
| As fearless spoke the Island Chief: | |
| |
| “Think not, thou eagle Lord of Rome, | |
| And master of the world, | |
| Though victory’s banner o’er thy dome | |
| In triumph now is furled, | 40 |
| I would address thee as thy slave, | |
| But as the bold should greet the brave! | |
| |
| “I might, perchance, could I have deigned | |
| To hold a vassal’s throne, | |
| E’en now in Britain’s isle have reigned | 45 |
| A king in name alone, | |
| Yet holding, as thy meek ally, | |
| A monarch’s mimic pageantry. | |
| |
| “Then through Rome’s crowded streets to-day | |
| I might have rode with thee, | 50 |
| Not in a captive’s base array, | |
| But fetterless and free,— | |
| If freedom he could hope to find, | |
| Whose bondage is of heart and mind. | |
| |
| “But canst thou marvel that, freeborn, | 55 |
| With heart and soul unquelled, | |
| Throne, crown, and sceptre I should scorn, | |
| By thy permission held? | |
| Or that I should retain my right | |
| Till wrested by a conqueror’s might? | 60 |
| |
| “Rome, with her palaces and towers, | |
| By us unwished, unreft, | |
| Her homely huts and woodland bowers | |
| To Britain might have left; | |
| Worthless to you their wealth must be, | 65 |
| But dear to us, for they were free! | |
| |
| “I might have bowed before, but where | |
| Had been thy triumph now? | |
| To my resolve no yoke to bear | |
| Thou ow’st thy laurelled brow; | 70 |
| Inglorious victory had been thine, | |
| And more inglorious bondage mine. | |
| |
| “Now I have spoken, do thy will; | |
| Be life or death my lot, | |
| Since Britain’s throne no more I fill, | 75 |
| To me it matters not. | |
| My fame is clear; but on my fate | |
| Thy glory or thy shame must wait.” | |
| |
| He ceased; from all around upsprung | |
| A murmur of applause, | 80 |
| For well had truth and freedom’s tongue | |
| Maintained their holy cause. | |
| The conqueror was the captive then; | |
| He bade the slave be free again. | |
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