Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams :: :: University of Virginia Library

Danger is not in action, but in sloth;
By sloth alone we lose
Our strength, our substance, and, far more than both,
The guerdon of the Muse.
Men kill without compunction hawk and kite;
To save the folded flock
They chase the wily plunderer of the night
O'er thicket, marsh, and rock.
Sacred no longer is Our Lord the wolf
Nor crown'd is crocodile:
And shall ye worship on the Baltick Gulph
The refuse of the Nile?
Among the myriad men of murder'd sires
Is there not one still left
Whom wrongs and vengeance urge, whom virtue fires?
One conscious how bereft
Of all is he . . of country, kindred, home . .
He, doom'd to drag along
The dray of serfdom, or thro' lands to roam
That mock an unknown tongue?
A better faith was theirs than pulpits preach
Who struck the tyrant down,

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Who taught the brave how patriot brands can reach
And crush the proudest crown.
No law for him who stands above the law,
Trampling on truth and trust;
But hangman's hook or courtier's “privy paw”
Shall drag him thro' the dust.
Most dear of all the Virtues to her Sire
Is Justice; and most dear
To Justice is Tyrannicide; the fire
That guides her flashes near.
See o'er the desert God's red pillar tower!
Follow, ye Nations! raise
The hymn to God! To God alone be power
And majesty and praise!