310
THE FORUM.
Let Envy drop her raven quill,
Let Slander’s venomed lip be still,
And hushed Detraction’s croaking song,
That dared, devoid of taste and sense,
To call these sons of Eloquence
A spouting, stammering, schoolboy throng.
In vain, for they in grave debate
Weighed mighty themes of church and state
With words of power, and looks of sages;
While far diffused, their gracious smile
Soothed Bony in his prison-isle.
And Turkish wives in harem-cages!
Heaven bless them! for their generous pity
Toiled hard to light our darkened city,
With that firm zeal that never flinches;
And long, to prove the love they bore us,
With “more last words” they lingered o’er us,
And died, like a tom-cat, by inches!
H.
