Beware that grave of shame wherein
His fame, his honour—by a lie
Put with false lyric fervency—
You fain would thrust. His cause shall win,
His glory shall not die.
You voice their virulence—whose sheaf
Of poisoned darts, for blood athirst,
Fall blunt and harmless—you, the first
Of lyric freemen, once the chief
Of patriots? Fate accurst!