Were fix'd to view him, or were turn'd to hear. "My friends, you know me, you can witness all, How, urged by passion, I restrain my gall; And every motive to revenge withstand - Save when I hear abused my native land. "Is it not known, agreed, confirm'd, confess'd, That, of all people, we are govern'd best? We have the force of monarchies; are free, As the most proud republicans can be; And have those prudent counsels that arise In grave and cautious aristocracies; And live there those, in such all-glorious state. Traitors protected in the land they hate? Rebels, still warring with the laws that give To them subsistence?--Yes, such wretches live. "Ours is a Church reformed, and now no more Is aught for man to mend or to restore; 'Tis pure in doctrines, 'tis correct in creeds, Has nought redundant, and it nothing needs; No evil is therein--no wrinkle, spot, Stain, blame, or blemish: --I affirm there's not. "All this you know--now mark what once befell, With grief I bore it, and with shame I tell: I was entrapp'd--yes, so it came to pass, 'Mid heathen rebels, a tumultuous class; Each to his country bore a hellish mind, Each like his neighbour was of cursed kind; The land that nursed them, they blasphemed; the laws, Their sovereign's glory, and their country's cause: And who their mouth, their master-fiend, and who Rebellion's oracle?--You, catiff, you!" He spoke, and standing stretch'd his mighty arm, And fix'd the Man of Words, as by a charm. "How raved that railer! Sure some hellish power Restrain'd my tongue in that delirious hour, Or I had hurl'd the shame and vengeance due On him, the guide of that infuriate crew; But to mine eyes, such dreadful looks appear'd, Such mingled yell of lying words I heard, That I conceived around were demons all, And till I fled the house, I fear'd its fall. "Oh! could our country from our coasts expel Such foes! to nourish those who wish her well: This her mild laws forbid, but we may still From us eject them by our sovereign will; This let us do."--He said, and then began A gentler feeling for the silent man; E'en in our hero's mighty soul arose A touch of pity for experienced woes; But this was transient, and with angry eye He sternly look'd, and paused for a reply. 'Twas then the Man of many Words would speak - But, in his trial, had them all to seek: To find a friend he look'd the circle round, But joy or scorn in every feature found; He sipp'd his wine, but in those times of dread Wine only adds confusion to the head; In doubt he reason'd with himself--"And how Harangue at night, if I be silent now?" From pride and praise received, he sought to draw Courage to speak, but still remain'd the awe; One moment rose he with a forced disdain, And then, abash'd, sunk sadly down again; While in our hero's glance he seem'd to read, "Slave and insurgent! what hast thou to plead?" By desperation urged, he now began: "I seek no favour--I--the rights of man!