That day I did not hate Nor doubt, nor quail nor curse. I, reverencing the people, did not bate My reverence of their deed and oracle, Nor vainly prate Of better and of worse Against the great conclusion of their will. And yet, O voice and verse, Which God set in me to acclaim and sing Conviction, exaltation, aspiration, We gave no music to the patent thing, Nor spared a holy rhythm to throb and swim About the name of him Translated to the sphere of domination By democratic passion! I was not used, at least, Nor can be, now or then, To stroke the ermine beast On any kind of throne (Though builded by a nation for its own), And swell the surging choir for kings of men-- "Emperor Evermore." V. But now, Napoleon, now That, leaving far behind the purple throng Of vulgar monarchs, thou Tread'st higher in thy deed Than stair of throne can lead, To help in the hour of wrong The broken hearts of nations to be strong,-- Now, lifted as thou art To the level of pure song, We stand to meet thee on these Alpine snows! And while the palpitating peaks break out Ecstatic from somnambular repose With answers to the presence and the shout, We, poets of the people, who take part With elemental justice, natural right, Join in our echoes also, nor refrain. We meet thee, O Napoleon, at this height At last, and find thee great enough to praise. Receive the poet's chrism, which smells beyond The priest's, and pass thy ways;-- An English poet warns thee to maintain God's word, not England's:--let His truth be true And all men liars! with His truth respond To all men's lie. Exalt the sword and smite On that long anvil of the Apennine Where Austria forged the Italian chain in view Of seven consenting nations, sparks of fine Admonitory light, Till men's eyes wink before convictions new. Flash in God's justice to the world's amaze, Sublime Deliverer!--after many days Found worthy of the deed thou art come to do-- Emperor. Evermore. VI.