Bets at first were fool-traps, where the wise like spiders lay in ambush for the flies.
Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail our lion now will foreign foes assail.
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
There is a proud modesty in merit.
The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!
Few know the use of life before 'tis past.