 | Plays and poems |  |
375
TO ANDREW JACKSON.
Old lion of the Hermitage, againThe times invoke thee, but thou art not here;
Cannot our peril call thee from thy bier?
France vapors, and the puny arm of Spain
Is up to strike us; England gives them cheer,
False to the child that in her hour of fear
Must be her bulwark and her succor, fain
To prop the strength which even now doth wane.
Nor these alone; intestine broils delight
The gaping monarchs, and our liberal shore
Is rife with traitors. Now, while both unite—
Europe and treason—I would see once more
Thy dreadful courage lash itself to might,
Behold thee shake thy mane, and hear thy roar.
1852.
| Plays and poems | |