University of Virginia Library

But lo! at the appointed time,
On His eternal throne sublime,
The Lord, who o'er all nature reigns,
And holds rebellious powers in chains,
Who sets the raging sea its bounds,
He looks—and all our foes confounds!

He calls the man of His right hand,
His image, in the gap to stand,
Inspired with wisdom from above,
Clothed with authority and love,
Deputed by the Lord most high
To deal the vengeance of the sky,
Root out the sons of wickedness,
And save a most unthankful race.

His faithful troops from every side
Are brought to turn the rapid tide,
To scatter the wild beasts of prey,
The felons and destroyers slay,
To seize the' appointed heirs of death,
And pluck the prey out of their teeth,
The brands half-burn'd out of the fire,
And pay the incendiaries their hire.

Compell'd at last the loyal bands
To execute their king's commands,
(Their king by heaven's almighty Lord
Entrusted with the nation's sword,)
No more they tenderly forbear,
No more with cruel pity spare,
Nor slaughter all with fury blind,
But where the active fiends they find
In their infernal work employ'd,
The hell-hounds are at once destroy'd!

The pale, remaining sons of riot,
Atrocious foes to public quiet,
Quaking before their swift pursuers,
(A terror now to evil-doers,)
Into remotest corners fly,
(Their badges and their arms thrown by,)
Or wish in the deep dungeon's gloom
To screen them from the death to come,
Or long to hide their guilty head
In ruins which their hands have made.

But vain your hope of a reprieve,
Ye see the sad alternative,
Mercy itself is forced to cry,
The innocent, or you, must die.

What streams of blood already shed!
Heaps of intoxicated dead,
Beneath the flaming ashes found,
And carcases without a wound!
(While many a slaughter'd parricide
Is dragg'd away, his name to hide.)
Patricians here in rags remain,
There female fiends and furies slain,
To every shock'd spectator show
“There is a God that reigns below!”
But now fulfill'd His dread design,
The ministers of wrath Divine,
Behold the public peace restored,
And gladly sheathe the vengeful sword.

Extinct we see the fatal blaze,
Saved by a miracle of grace,
The national escape we view,
And scarcely dare believe it true.
Yet now beginning to respire,
We anxiously the cause inquire
Whence our calamities began,
Or who contrived the burning plan.
Too evident the' accursed design
We see; but where's the Catiline?
The wisest grant we are not got
To the dark bottom of the plot;
The least acute, methinks, might smell
The counsel of Ahithopel.
Or is there no resentment rankling
In the unnatural heart of Franklin?
Does nothing treasonable lurk,
Nothing American, in ------?
No depths of Luciferian art
In F---'s foul, infernal heart?
(That son of vice and dissipation,
Implunged in debt and desperation,
For each flagitious purpose fit,
A fiend in malice and in wit!)
No hope in the ejected race?
No mischief hatching in His Grace—
So forward to defend the crown,
And turn the soldiers out of town,
So willing, in our last extreme,
Our safety should be left to him!

How came Mynheer our doom to know,
And publish it two months ago?
French prophets—whence could they foresee
Our swift-approaching destiny?
Or Congress, from across the' Atlantic,
Behold the Associate mob so frantic,
And promise the destruction near
Of London and of Westminster?

In answer to these choking questions,
Or ministerial suggestions,
The patriots say, “No harm was meant,
No plot: but all was accident!”
By accident the rabble came
Together, in religion's name;
By accident, without a plan,
They with the mass-houses began;
They next suppress'd all evidence,
And all who justice could dispense;
The statesmen to destruction doom'd;
By accident the jails consumed;
(While water we in vain require
To quench the hell-compounded fire)
By accident the people's lees
Concurr'd our wealth and arms to seize;
From step to step, by measures just
To lay our cities in the dust,
Our name and nation to erase,
And build their empire in its place;
To reign—yet still with no intent
To reign—“for all was accident!”

So, as the sons of Epicurus
With modest confidence assure us,
Atoms did into order dance
And form'd an universe,—by chance!

“But why is no discovery made?
We see the tail, without the head.”
Our rulers may know more, and see
Farther, perhaps, than you or me;
And at the time that best befits
To bring the nation to their wits,
Unravel the complete design,
And show the face of Catiline!

Meantime in spite of all your covers,
And sly, political manœuvres,
This inference the public draws,
The effect must presuppose a cause,
The mischief point at the contrivers,
The headlong herd detect the drivers.