ODE ON TB M LATE COUP D'ETAT.

I.

Let loose thy hell-hounds, man of blood, But not against the foe- 'Gainst those who in thy quarrel stood Not three short years ago ; 'Gainst harmless burghers, whom the hum Of marching troops or beating dram Brings back to peaceful homes, or calls To windows and soon batteed walls; Or 'gainst some unoffending passer-by, A stranger in thy land, the grave of liberty.

IL Bring forth the prisoners !—never wait To bind their streaming eyes : What matter how they meet their fate ?- Curse on 3 on women's cries!

Now fire, my men, nor stop your mirth—

Sweep the Socialists from earth! Far better they should piecemeal lie Than trouble our " humanity " !* Lo these the triumphs of thy murderous crew, Thou reckless, ruthless chief, ungrateful and untrue.

Bring forth the prisoners, men of mark,

Who well have played their part—

Away with them to dungeon dark, Handcuff'd in prison-cart: Stifled and starved in crowded room, There let them ponder on their doom, While anguish'd wife and children wait

To hear their step approach the gate.i.

And this the courteous Prince, who smirk'd and bowed, And won with honeyed lies the praises of the crowd!

Was't not enough, with lawless zeal, Through many a vile intrigue, 'Gainst men who loved their country's weal, Nor hated thee, to league, But thou must tarnish Freedom's name With sanguine deeds of needless shame ? Where is thy foes' pretended plot, The shadowy mask of many a shot ? Oh! had they but that strength, it soon were shown And we would own thy truth, hurled from thy blood-sain'd throne!

V.

'Es sad, when raised by high desires Above law's level plain, Some mighty spirit of earth aspires No rightful heights to gain;

Yet, while we mourn his ill-sted aim, We grant the unwilling meed of fame ; And wisdom, virtue, once were known To flourish 'neath a tyrant's throne :

But these were men to whom a land might bow, And scarcely feel her shame—alas ! how different thou!

'Tis sad, when o'er a people's soul, By long oppression ground, Steals bitter wrath that spurns control; For soon a cause is found, And, onward by fierce passions led, They spoil for pelf who strove for bread: Or when some wrong, too soon believed, Goads on the willingly deceived ; And many a tear has Freedom shed for those Whom her own trumpet-blast first summon'd from repose : VII.

But thee, nor Freedom's sacred cause, To noblest souls a snare, Npr majesty of outraged laws, Nor e'en a bold despair,

But heartless lust of power or pelf

Has raised awhile above thyself.

And there thou sitest, uncheeed, alone ; A bloody cordon round thy throne ; Thy only passport to that post of shame A cheated nation's chill—a soird ancestral name.

Not ours to prophesy thy fate : But blood, and want, and wo, In ambush gathering round thee wait.

Some victim's desperate blow, Or sweeping gust of furious grief

From warriors who have lost their chief—

The fickle crowd's rebounding scorn, (Thy borrow'd cloak once threadbare worn)— Whate'er the meanest, bloodiest tyrants dread, Still must thou daily view suspended o'er thy head.

Betake thee to thy priests—to them Thy treason's guilt confess; And though thy God must neds condemn, Ask erring man to bless ; And kneeling, while thy troops patrol, Pray for each murdeed victim's soul, In yonder shrine, which thou in vain East :given to Mercy's God again : Or rather, hie thee to some island bay, And there, self-exiled, weep thy wickedness away.

x. God help thee rfair and glorious Land,

With whom but late we seem'd Linled by a new and loving band, While not of this we dream'd: God help thee, prostrate 'neath the rule Of daring knave and willing tool! Nor let some foe thy discord view,

And long-repress'd attacks renew ;

Unlike our Isle, who mourns her sister's fall, And this, the darkest, vilest, saddest scene of all. J. E. B.

• Letter in the Spectator, Dec. 13. -t Letter in the Times.