Victor The King! Alive To-Day, Not Dead! Behold, I Bring Thee With A Subject'S Hand A Poor Pale Wreath, The Best At My Command, But All Unfit To Deck So Grand A Head. It Is The Outcome Of A Neighbour Land Denounced Of Thee, And Spurn'D For Many Years. It Is The Token Of A Nation'S Tears Which Oft Has Joy'D In Thee, And Shall Again. Love For Thy Hate, Applause For Thy Disdain, - These Are The Flowers We Spread Upon Thy Hearse. We Give Thee Back, To-Day, Thy Poet-Curse; We Call Thee Friend; We Ratify Thy Reign. Kings Change Their Sceptres For A Funeral Stone, But Thou Hast Turn'D Thy Tomb Into A Throne!