Burns, Shelley, were with us—they watched from their graves!
He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,
He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!
II
We shall march prospering, not thro’ his presence;
Songs may inspirit us, not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done, while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.
Blot out his name, then; record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod;