Amid a fertile region green with wood
And fresh with rivers, well doth it become
The Ducal Owner, in his Palace-home
To naturalise this tawny Lion brood;
Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood,
Couched in their Den, with those that roam at large
Over the burning wilderness, and charge
The wind with terror while they roar for food.
are satiate, and a stillness drear
Calls into life a more enduring fear;
Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the cave
Daunt him - if his Companions, now bedrowsed
Yawning and listless, were by hunger roused:
Man placed him here, and God, he knows, can save.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem