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Protector of the spirit, who by night With hands bent round it lanthorn-like dost frame Against the wind a shelter for its flame, Thyself a thing of spirit and a light, The Commonwealth! Yet in thy sovereign right Thou may’st not unrebuked, unchallenged claim To be the First and Last, a holier Name Than thine intoning from a higher height. For blood is on thy hand and on thy head, And war’s black cloud upon thy deep dark brow; And in thy shadow Socrates lies dead. And though awhile it needs must be that thou For man’s unrighteousness shalt legislate, Man’s righteousness will yet become thy Fate.

HESEPE, 17th July