“Close as a mask he wore this fiery sin

Of hate; and daring peril foremost, died

Ere yet the wrath of law was justified,

Hopeless, with memory such as miscreants win.

One sacred head he smote, encircled in

A people’s arms; and shook, with storms allied,

The pillars of the world from side to side.”...

E’en so the Angel’s record must begin.

Show me not anguish since that traitor-stroke

Rang o’er the brunt of war; yet child, O child!

When later days bring bitter thoughts, recall,

No maledictions on his name I spoke,

Catching lost cues; but asked, well-reconciled,

God, our Interpreter, to right us all.