THE MODERATES

Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta.

She stood before her traitors bound and bare,

Clothed with her wounds and with her naked shame

As with a weed of fiery tears and flame,

Their mother-land, their common weal and care,

And they turned from her and denied, and sware

They did not know this woman nor her name.

And they took truce with tyrants and grew tame,

And gathered up cast crowns and creeds to wear,

And rags and shards regilded. Then she took

In her bruised hands their broken pledge, and eyed

These men so late so loud upon her side

With one inevitable and tearless look,

That they might see her face whom they forsook;

And they beheld what they had left, and died.