In massacres it wallow'd: A noble nation met its hordes, But broken fell their cause and swords, They saw a late bombarded town, Its streets still warm with blood ran down ; They saw the captive eye the dead, Death's quick reward of bravery: "Fie! fie!" the younger heavenly spark Exclaim'd:" we must have miss'd our mark, And enter'd hell's own portals: Earth can't be stain'd with crimes so black; “No,” said the elder; "no such thing: Fiends are not fools enough to wring The necks of one another : They know their interests too well: Men fight; but every devil in hell And I could point you out some fellows, In royal power that revel; Who, at the opening of the book Of judgment, may have cause to look Name but the devil, and he'll appear. With smutty face and figure: Could watch the fiendish nigger. "Halloo!" he cried, "I smell a trick: A mortal supersedes Old Nick, The scourge of earth appointed: He robs me of my trade, outrants The blasphemy of hell, and vaunts Himself the Lord's anointed! Folks make a fuss about my mischief: Dd fools; they tamely suffer this chief To play his pranks unbounded." The cherubs flew; but saw from high, At human inhumanity, The devil himself astounded. 1832. SENEX'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS YOUTHFUL IDOL. PLATONIC friendship at your years, Yes, and she 'll loathe me unforgiven, But beauty is a beam from heaven, I'll challenge Plato from the skies, To look in M-y C's eyes, TO SIR FRANCIS BURDETT, ON HIS SPEECH DELIVERED IN PARLIAMENT, AUGUST 7, 1832, RESPECTING THE FOREIGN POLICY OF GREAT BRITAIN. BURDETT, enjoy thy justly foremost fame, Through good and ill report-through calm and storm For forty years the pilot of reform! Is that thou hast come nobly forth to chide Invoke the scorn-Alas! too few inherit The scorn for despots cherish'd by our sires, That baffled Europe's persecuting fires, And shelter'd helpless states!--Recall that spirit, And conjure back Old England's haughty mind Convert the men who waver now, and pause Between their love of self and humankind; And move, Amphion-like, those hearts of stone— The hearts that have been deaf to Poland's dying groan! Tell them, we hold the Rights of Man too dear, To bless ourselves with lonely freedom blest; But could we hope, with sole and selfish breast, To breathe untroubled Freedom's atmosphere ?— Suppose we wish'd it? England could not stand A lone oasis in the desert ground Of Europe's slavery; from the waste around Oppression's fiery blast and whirling sand Would reach and scathe us? No; it may not be: Britannia and the world conjointly must be free ! Burdett, demand why Britons send abroad The Bear on Poland's babes that wages war. He prays to Heaven for England's king, he saysAnd dares he to the God of mercy kneel, Besmear'd with massacres from head to heel? No; Moloch is his God-to him he prays |