Joyous he was; and hope and peace
On all who heard him did abide,
Raining like dew from his sweet talk,
As where the evening star may walk
Along the brink of the gloomy seas, 645
Liquid mists of splendour quiver. 
His very gestures touched to tears
The unpersuaded tyrant, never
So moved before:  his presence stung
The torturers with their victim’s pain, 650
And none knew how; and through their ears
The subtle witchcraft of his tongue
Unlocked the hearts of those who keep
Gold, the world’s bond of slavery. 
Men wondered, and some sneered to see 655
One sow what he could never reap: 
For he is rich, they said, and young,
And might drink from the depths of luxury. 
If he seeks Fame, Fame never crowned
The champion of a trampled creed:  660
If he seeks Power, Power is enthroned
’Mid ancient rights and wrongs, to feed
Which hungry wolves with praise and spoil,
Those who would sit near Power must toil;
And such, there sitting, all may see. 665
What seeks he?  All that others seek
He casts away, like a vile weed
Which the sea casts unreturningly. 
That poor and hungry men should break
The laws which wreak them toil and scorn, 670
We understand; but Lionel
We know, is rich and nobly born. 
So wondered they:  yet all men loved
Young Lionel, though few approved;
All but the priests, whose hatred fell 675
Like the unseen blight of a smiling day,
The withering honey dew, which clings
Under the bright green buds of May,
Whilst they unfold their emerald wings: 
For he made verses wild and queer 680
On the strange creeds priests hold so dear,
Because they bring them land and gold. 
Of devils and saints and all such gear,
He made tales which whoso heard or read
Would laugh till he were almost dead. 685
So this grew a proverb:  ’Don’t get old
Till Lionel’s “Banquet in Hell” you hear,
And then you will laugh yourself young again.’ 
So the priests hated him, and he
Repaid their hate with cheerful glee. 690

Ah, smiles and joyance quickly died,
For public hope grew pale and dim
In an altered time and tide,
And in its wasting withered him,
As a summer flower that blows too soon 695
Droops in the smile of the waning moon,
When it scatters through an April night
The frozen dews of wrinkling blight. 
None now hoped more.  Gray Power was seated
Safely on her ancestral throne; 700
And Faith, the Python, undefeated,