Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/104

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THE RUINS OF HEROD'S PALACE.
103


"It was some satrap's palace, sure,
    In old time, far away,
Or else of some great Christian prince,
    I've heard my father say,"
"Arab! it was King Herod's dome;
    'Twas there he feasted, free,
His captains, and the chief estates,
    And lords of Galilee;

"'Twas there the impious dancer's heel
    Lured his rash soul astray."
But, ere the earnest tale was told,
    The ploughman turn'd away.
O ruthless king! thy vaunted pomp
    And power avail thee not,
Who here, beside thy palace-gates,
    Art by the serf forgot:

Yet he whose blood in prison-cell
    By thy decree was spilt,
Whose head, upon the charger brought,
    Appeased revengeful guilt,
His name, amid a deathless page,
    Gleams forth with living ray,
While all thy royalty and pride
    Are swept like foam away.