And bid the insurgents tremble and obey. He comes!--but where, the amazing theme to hit, Discover language or ideas fit? Splay-footed words, that hector, bounce, and swagger, 380 The sense to puzzle, and the brain to stagger? Our patriot comes! with frenzy fired, the Muse With allegoric eye his figure views! Like the grim portress of hell-gate he stands, Bellona's scourge hangs trembling in his hands! Around him, fiercer than the ravenous shark, "A cry of hell-hounds' never-ceasing bark;" And lo! the enormous giant to bedeck, A golden millstone hangs upon his neck! On him ambition's vulture darts her claws, 390 And with voracious rage his liver gnaws. Our patriot comes!--the buckles of whose shoes Not Cromwell's self was worthy to unloose. Repeat his name in thunder to the skies! Ye hills fall prostrate, and ye vales arise! Through faction's wilderness prepare the way! Prepare, ye listening senates, to obey! The idol of the mob, behold him stand, The Alpha and Omega of the land! Methinks I hear the bellowing demagogue 400 Dumb-sounding declamations disembogue, Expressions of immeasurable length, Where pompous jargon fills the place of strength; Where fulminating, rumbling eloquence, With loud theatric rage, bombards the sense; And words, deep rank'd in horrible array, Exasperated metaphors convey! With these auxiliaries, drawn up at large, He bids enraged sedition beat the charge: From England's sanguine hope his aid withdraws, 410 And lists to guide in insurrection's cause. And lo! where, in her sacrilegious hand, The parricide lifts high her burning brand! Go, while she yet suspends her impious aim, With those infernal lungs arouse the flame! Though England merits not her least regard, Thy friendly voice gold boxes shall reward! Arise, embark! prepare thy martial car, To lead her armies and provoke the war! Rebellion wakes, impatient of delay, 420 The signal her black ensigns to display. To thee, whose soul, all steadfast and serene, Beholds the tumults that distract our scene; And, in the calmer seats of wisdom placed, Enjoys the sweets of sentiment and taste: To thee, O Marius! whom no factions sway, The impartial Muse devotes her honest lay! In her fond breast no prostituted aim, Nor venal hope, assumes fair friendship's name: Sooner shall Churchill's feeble meteor-ray, 430 That led our foundering demagogue astray, Darkling to grope and flounce in Error's night, Eclipse great Mansfield's strong meridian light, Than shall the change of fortune, time, or place, Thy generous friendship in my heart efface! Oh! whether wandering from thy country far, And plunged amid the murdering scenes of war; Or in the blest retreat of virtue laid, Where contemplation spreads her awful shade;