Ess, Not Such As On His Wings The Messenger Of Sickness Brings, But Such As Takes Its Coward Rise From Conscious Baseness, Conscious Vice, O'Erspread His Cheeks; Disdain And Pride, To Upstart Fortunes Ever Tied, Scowl'D On His Brow; Within His Eye, Insidious, Lurking Like A Spy, To Caution Principled By Fear, Not Daring Open To Appear, Lodged Covert Mischief; Passion Hung On His Lip Quivering; On His Tongue Fraud Dwelt At Large; Within His Breast All That Makes Villain Found A Nest; All That, On Hell'S Completest Plan, E'Er Join'D To Damn The Heart Of Man. Soon As The Car Reach'D Land, He Rose, And, With A Look Which Might Have Froze The Heart'S Best Blood, Which Was Enough Had Hearts Been Made Of Sterner Stuff In Cities Than Elsewhere, To Make The Very Stoutest Quail And Quake, He Cast His Baleful Eyes Around: Fix'D Without Motion To The Ground, Fear Waiting On Surprise, All Stood, And Horror Chill'D Their Curdled Blood; No More They Thought Of Pomp, No More (For They Had Seen His Face Before) Of Law They Thought; The Cause Forgot, Whether It Was Or Ghost, Or Plot, Which Drew Them There: They All Stood More Like Statues Than They Were Before. What Could Be Done? Could Art, Could Force. Or Both, Direct A Proper Course To Make This Savage Monster Tame, Or Send Him Back The Way He Came? What Neither Art, Nor Force, Nor Both, Could Do, A Lord Of Foreign Growth, A Lord To That Base Wretch Allied In Country, Not In Vice And Pride, Effected; From The Self-Same Land, (Bad News For Our Blaspheming Band Of Scribblers, But Deserving Note) The Poison Came And Antidote. Abash'D, The Monster Hung His Head, And Like An Empty Vision Fled; His Train, Like Virgin Snows, Which Run, Kiss'D By The Burning Bawdy Sun, To Love-Sick Streams, Dissolved In Air; Joy, Who From Absence Seem'D More Fair, Came Smiling, Freed From Slavish Awe; Loyalty, Liberty, And Law, Impatient Of The Galling Chain, And Yoke Of Power, Resumed Their Reign; And, Burning With The Glorious Flame Of Public Virtue, Mansfield Came.