II
What! in the darkness lowers boat after boat
From Freedom's fleet, and each with lightening oars?
Treasons to God and country are the rowers.
They are the Gold and Hireling Brain, that gloat
On conscience body with face down, afloat.
Why hail they Greed, to run on menial chores
From deck to deck, or to and from all shores?
Why? To ensure the payment of a note.
Meanwhile, brisk Freedom's fleets with justice manned,
And cosmic full momentum for their speed,
Confront the crafts, fired up by fiendish Greed.
A clash and—lo! they pass the strait and land,
Leaving in smoldering heaps, like autumn's weed,
The hulks of thrall along time's vultured strand.