While Leisure and Labour and Pleasure and Pain
Have pined for the breath of thy summer in vain.
With Sedition’s loud cry, have our annals been shamed,
With a Senate obstructed, a credit defamed,
With the cheers of a mob and the sneers of a press
To rash to condemn and too prompt to caress,
While the pulse of our commerce beats fitful and low—
Old Year—
False libeller, silence! and hark, ere I go:
All my life throughout Europe the sword hath been sheathed;