Thou who loved Juvenal, and filed
His style so sharp to scar imperial brows,
And lent the lustre lightening
The gloom in Dante's murky verse that flows,--
Muse Indignation! haste and help
My building up before this roseate realm
And its fruitless victories,
Whence transient shame Right's prophets overwhelm,
So many pillories deserved,
That eyes to come will pry without avail
Upon the wood impenetrant,
And glean no glitter of its tarnished tale.
