Not thus had he, your Hugo, skulked
’Midst the traducer’s, limed and trapped
By patriot shams; you jingo-capped,
Whose views of Freedom broadlier bulked
Caste’s curs have snarled and snapped
In chorus long; but will you bow
To yelp at Freedom’s heels, and tear
Her noblest champion? Have a care!
The fading laurels round your brow
Slander shall not make fair.