CXXVII.
 

Proclaiming social truth shall spread,
    And justice, ev’n tho’ thrice again
    The red fool-fury of the Seine
Should pile her barricades with dead.

But ill for him that wears a crown,
    And him, the lazar, in his rags:
    They tremble, the sustaining crags;
The spires of ice are toppled down,

And molten up, and roar in flood;
    The fortress crashes from on high,
    The brute earth lightens to the sky,
And the great Æon sinks in blood,

And compass’d by the fires of Hell;
    While thou, dear spirit, happy star,
    O’erlook’st the tumult from afar,
And smilest, knowing all is well.