Still falls, despotic State!
This man, the noisiest Fenian on the earth,
Has sworn a swear to ne’er let Britain be.
Poor England! what are all thy bobbies worth,
And what avail detectives unto thee,
To guard thee from his hate?
You—you—who catch a Cunningham or so,
If you imagine that the danger’s o’er,
You’re much mistaken, as you’ll shortly know,
So now to gain the door