With throbbing heart and pale eye stands,
And spreads to heaven his harpy hands,
When Freedom’s voice alarms the morn,
And Vengeance winds her echoing horn.
See, with the wind he scours away
Sleek, and in crimes grown old and gray!
Oft has he foil’d our angry pack,
I know his customary track.
Talk not of pity to such foes!
Stern justice claims the life he owes.