As red the fire-scathed royal northland bloom, [_Str._ 4. That left our story a name Dyed through with blood and flame Ere her life shrivelled from a fierier doom Than theirs her priests bade pass from earth in fire To slake the thirst of God their Lord's desire: As keen the blast of love-enkindled fate That burst the Paduan tyrant's guarded gate: As sad the softer moan Made one with music's own 130 For one whose feet made music as they fell On ways by loveless love made hot from hell: But higher than these and all the song thereof The perfect heart of love, The heart by fraud and hate once crucified, That, dying, gave thanks, and in thanksgiving died. Above the windy walls that rule the Rhine [_Ant._ 4. A noise of eagles' wings And wintry war-time rings, With roar of ravage trampling corn and vine 140 And storm of wrathful wassail dashed with song, And under these the watch of wreakless wrong, With fire of eyes anhungered; and above These, the light of the stricken eyes of love, The faint sweet eyes that follow The wind-outwinging swallow, And face athirst with young wan yearning mouth Turned after toward the unseen all-golden south, Hopeless to see the birds back ere life wane, Or the leaves born again; 150 And still the might and music mastering fate Of life more strong than death and love than hate. In spectral strength biform [_Ep._ 4. Stand the twin sons of storm Transfigured by transmission of one hand That gives the new-born time Their semblance more sublime Than once it lightened over each man's land; There Freedom's winged and wide-mouthed hound, 159 And here our high Dictator, in his son discrowned. What strong-limbed shapes of kindred throng round these [_Str._ 5. Before, between, behind, Sons born of one man's mind, Fed at his hands and fostered round his knees? Fear takes the spirit in thraldom at his nod, And pity makes it as the spirit of God, As his own soul that from her throne above Sheds on all souls of men her showers of love, On all earth's evil and pain Pours mercy forth as rain 170 And comfort as the dewfall on dry land; And feeds with pity from a faultless hand All by their own fault stricken, all cast out By all men's scorn or doubt, Or with their own hands wounded, or by fate Brought into bondage of men's fear or hate.