See where the bold imposter plies his trade, And cheats of every kind are made; Quack creeds, quack medicines, quack politics, In wild confusion mix; And lo; the scribbler who _writes down_ The wisest and the noblest men, With his envenomed pen, To please the long-eared rabble of the town, The darkly hinted calumny, The vulgar jeer, The cynic sneer, The bold unblushing lie, He scatters round in heedless wrath, Like firebrands upon a madman’s path, So when the infernal crew had hunted down The statesman who deserved a crown, And shot the empoisoned dart Deep in his quivering heart, While, like a stag chased home, at bay he stood, Facing the clamorous pack athirst for blood; With awful grandeur beaming in his eye, Promethean in its agony, The hireling scribbler all unshamed By the sad gaze of him he had defamed, Exulted in his hellish work, As the assassin when he plies his dirk, And styled himself apostle sent to teach Mankind the glories of free thought and speech. The Sage upon Judea’s Mount Unsealed the everlasting fount Of Peace and Truth and Love, And the Evangel Dove Came from the skies and nestled to his breast, And bright-eyed Hope, From Heaven’s starry slope, Under his gentle reign, Beheld the Golden Age return again, And Earth was blest. But lo; lean wolves have seized the fold, And _brass_ supplants the Age of Gold. Luxurious, profligate, and vile, With lips of guile, And Judas’ kiss and smile, The modern Pharisee, With broad phylactery, Converts the temple of his God Into a mart of crime and fraud. Inspired by thee, oh, Impudence; He holds the words of truth and speaks a lie, Cloaks blackest sins with fair pretense Of Apostolic piety, And shears the starving sheep and flays the lambs, ’Mid groans and prayers and penitential psalms. Oh, Impudence; thy triumph is complete; Mankind lie prostrate at thy feet, And every class, Like bees in swarm, Are spell-bound by the charm Of “tinkling cymbals and of sounding brass,” Genius and modest worth Starve in the cradle of their birth. They win the meed of fame Whose deeds deserve the pillory of shame; Upon the topmost waves of honor ride, As scum and froth float on the swollen tide. So coxcombs in the garden blow, While fragrant myrtles nestle low; So hollyhocks uplift their head In scentless robes of flaunting red, And gaudy peonies Attract the passers’ eyes, Yet from their leaves no fragrant dews Their cheering influence diffuse Like that ambrosia and sweet violets shed, Or fragrant mignonette in its unnoticed bed. MY BIRTHDAY.