With face of Fox--with glee that grins,
And apish arms, with fingers claw'd,
To snatch at all his brother wins,
And straight secrete, with stealth and fraud;--
Lo! Mammon, kindred Demon, comes,
And lurks, as dreading ill, in rear;
He blows the trumpet, beats the drums,
Inflames the torch, and sharps the spear!
VIII.
And furious, following in their train,
What hosts of lesser Demons rise;
Lust, Malice, Hunger, Greed and Gain,
Each raging for its special prize.
Too base for freedom, mean for toil,
And reckless all of just and right,
They rage in peaceful homes for spoil,
And where they cannot butcher, blight.
IX.
A Serpent lie from every mouth,
Coils outward ever,--sworn to bless;
Yet, through the gardens of the South,
Still spreading evils numberless,
By locust swarms the fields are swept,
By frenzied hands the dwelling flames,
And virgin beds, where Beauty slept,
Polluted blush, from worst of shames.
X.
The Dragon, chain'd for thousand years,
Hath burst his bonds and rages free;--
Yet, patience, brethren, stay your fears;--
Loosed for "a little season,"[1] he
Will soon, beneath th' Ithuriel sword,
Of heavenly judgment, crush'd and driven,
Yield to the vengeance of the Lord,
And crouch beneath the wrath of Heaven!
XI.
"A little season," and the Peace,
That now is foremost in your prayers,
Shall crown your harvest with increase,
And bless with smiles the home of tears;
Your wounds be healed; your noble sons,
Unhurt, unmutilated--free--
Shall limber up their conquering guns,
In triumph grand of Liberty!