If Time, the avenger, execrates his wrongs,
And if the word ‘Miltonic’ mean ‘sublime,’
He deigned not to belie his soul in songs,
Nor turn his very talent to a crime;
He did not loathe the sire to laud the son,
But closed the tyrant-hater he begun.
‘Thinkest thou, could he—the blind old man—arise,
Like Samuel, from the grave, to freeze once more
The blood of monarchs with his prophecies,
Or be alive again—again, all hoar