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They sighed: "This leadeth to captivity--
Perchance destruction, ending dark and dire.
Yet must we yield to human liberty
Its own, e'en though a brand from freedom's fire
Kindle for freedom's self the fatal pyre."
So saying, they anointed one their king
Who craved the crown, by patriot son and sire
Put by in pure denial, lest it bring
First care, then crime, and waken woes then slumbering.
For though a king see duty's pathway plain,
And walk therein, as he who now arose;
What monarch from misrule can all refrain,
When privilege lifts power o'er friends and foes?
Rare is the reign untarnished to the close,
And rarer still the blameless dynasty.
Ofttimes as princes the unkingliest pose,
Because, forsooth, they come of some tall tree,
Whose root and trunk were sound, while branches blasted be.
True kingliness--what else proves man a king?
A slave, though throned and sceptered, bides a slave;
Nor pride, nor pelf, nor all that power may bring,
Can make the serf a sovereign, or yet save
The dust of either from the common grave.
Royal the soul must be, or comes to end
All royalty. Spirit, then blood, God gave;
And each at last its separate way doth wend
Home to the parent source, to meet no more, nor blend.
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Orson F. Whitney (Elias: An Epic of the Ages)