[Pg 30]

For you it waits, you, whose greed is preying

On mishap's victims, on joy forlorn;

Who, faith and country alike betraying,

The good deride and the sacred scorn;

Who, laws repressing

And hearts decoying,

Are virtue's blessing,

For fun, destroying—

And woe is fun's and derision's prize,

When, pale, the phantoms of vengeance rise.

[Pg 31]

For you it waits, all ye lying spirits,

When, stiff, the tongue to the palate sticks.

Your tongue would poison all honest merits,

Defiling honor by artful tricks;—

But, at my bar,

There is no demurrer:

The tomb I spar,

And I gag the slurrer,—

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