Not always should the Tear's ambrosial dew

Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow'd cheek! Not always heaven-breath'd tones of Suppliance meek Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler view, Who with proud words of dear-lov'd Freedom came-- More blasting than the mildew from the South! And kiss'd his country with Iscariot mouth (Ah! foul apostate from his Father's fame!)[83:2] Then fix'd her on the Cross of deep distress, And at safe distance marks the thirsty Lance Pierce her big side! But O! if some strange trance The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister[83:3] press, Seize, Mercy! thou more terrible the brand, And hurl her thunderbolts with fiercer hand!

December 23, 1794.