The Tribunes

The people have had masters whose strong faces,
Charged with imperious will, their masses cowed,
Who spoke with regal voices ringing loud
To draw out of their sleep lethargic races.

The word they cast down from the market-places
In the four winds of Heaven vibrated proud
With bitter love and majesty unbowed,
Threatening to make of cities desert spaces.

The crowd remember yet their magic names,
And echo them with thunderous acclaims
Of welcome to the coming victory.

The legendary marble where they stand
Rises on history's threshold, and their hand
Wrathfully sways the billowing days to be.