With look bespeaking golden prophecy
For that dear city she has made her own,
Superbly poises on her columned stone
Our loved, renowned Lady of Victory.
One hand holds high the trident of the sea,
And one the wreath for him by fame far blown,
While round her shaft wide spreads a verdurous zone
Where Peace reclines in full serenity.
Yet here Misfortune's children in defeat
Despairing drone the jewelled hours away,
And hopeless mourn the unreturning years.
How wretched those whose weary, trammelled feet
Can never reach achievement's crowning day
When every air throbs deep with Victory's cheers.