The Mob uprears his front; but Justice stands,
And, arm uplifted, solemnly demands:
Think you, because I’m slow as God is slow,
That any can escape me? Nay, the low
And high alike I reach. Though lame, I smite
At last all who defy my sovereign might.
With hunger wild, ferocious beasts obey
Their lust for blood—pursue and rend the prey;
But baser far than beast or fiend or ghoul,
Unfit to dwell in caves where tigers prowl,