― 70 ―

Latter Day Patriots

A time has been, in nearly every nation,
When Freedom, crushed beneath a tyrant's heel,
Hast burst her bonds, and, mad to desperation,
Has struck a blow which made the tyrant reel.
Oppression's chains, with tyrant hands to bind them,
May doom to servile bonds a slavish race;
But patriot hands, with manly hearts behind them,
Will snap those chains before the tyrant's face.

We reverence the men, renowned in story,
Whose gallant blood was poured on Freedom's shrine;
Their sole ambition was a patriot's glory,
And Freedom's triumph was their sole design.

  ― 71 ―
But now, alas! is Freedom's cause degrading,
Instead of those of whom the bards have sung,
We now have Patriots (?) openly parading,
Whose sole reliance is their strength of lung.

With noise and bluster they would rule the nation,
And crush opponents with their foul remarks,
Their trusty weapon, vile vituperation,
Their chosen battle ground, our public parks.
And there, when Sabbath bells their peals are ringing,
To call each wanderer home with silvery tongues,
The bells are silenced by the ceaseless dinging,
Of peddling patriots, with leather lungs.

One has a nostrum for each fiscal evil,
Another preaches socialistic rot,
A third attacks religion and the devil,
And all abuse the wealth they haven't got.
Each of his own pet stump is the selector,
Each prates on that he thinks he prates on best,
Each fills with dust the eyes of the elector,
And to advance himself would hang the rest.

  ― 72 ―
Yet all are patriots, for they love the nation
Whose laws and rulers treat them all so queer,
And are prepared to work out its salvation -
And ease it of three hundred pounds a year.
They want a seat and its attendant glories,
For its emoluments their throats they tear;
And, sad to say,O tempora, O mores,
If their throats stand it, we shall see them there.