Is a song all in praise of that primitive charity,
Which begins with sweet home, and which terminates there.
But sudden a tumult arose from a distance,
And in rushed a rabble with steel and with stone.
And ere the scared miller could call for assistance,
The mill to a million of atoms was blown.
Scarce mounted the fragments in ether to hurtle,
When the Quaker was vanished, no eye had seen where;
And the Scotchman thrown flat on his back, like a turtle,
Was sprawling and bawling, with heels in the air.