Fame, wherever her flag flew, never forbore to fly with
⁠an equal wing:
France and Spain with their warrior train bowed down
⁠before her as thrall to king;
India knelt at her feet, and felt her sway more fruitful of
⁠life than spring.

Darkness round them as iron bound fell off from races of
⁠elder name,
Slain at sight of her eyes, whose light bids freedom
⁠lighten and burn as flame;
Night endures not the touch that cures of kingship
⁠tyrants, and slaves of shame.

All the terror of time, where error and fear were lords of
⁠a world of slaves,
Age on age in resurgent rage and anguish darkening as
⁠waves on waves,
Fell or fled from a face that shed such grace as quickens
⁠the dust of graves.