Thrice has the spring beheld thy faded fame,
     And the fourth winter rises on thy shame,
     Since I exulting grasped the votive shell. 
     In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell;
     Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine,
     And proud to mix my memory with thine. 
     But now the cause that waked my song before,
     With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more. 
     If to the glorious man whose faithful cares,
     Nor quelled by malice, nor relaxed by years,
     Had awed Ambition’s wild audacious hate,
     And dragged at length Corruption to her fate;
     If every tongue its large applauses owed,
     And well-earned laurels every muse bestowed;
     If public Justice urged the high reward,
     And Freedom smiled on the devoted bard: 
     Say then,—­to him whose levity or lust
     Laid all a people’s generous hopes in dust,
     Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power
     And saved Corruption at her hopeless hour,
     Does not each tongue its execrations owe? 
     Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow? 
     And public Justice sanctify the award? 
     And Freedom’s hand protect the impartial bard?

     There are who say they viewed without amaze
     The sad reverse of all thy former praise;
     That through the pageants of a patriot’s name,
     They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim;
     Or deemed thy arm exalted but to throw
     The public thunder on a private foe. 
     But I, whose soul consented to thy cause,
     Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause,
     Who saw the spirits of each glorious age
     Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage,—­
     I scorned the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds,
     The owl-eyed race, whom Virtue’s lustre blinds. 
     Spite of the learned in the ways of vice,
     And all who prove that each man has his price,
     I still believed thy end was just and free;
     And yet, even yet believe it—­spite of thee. 
     Even though thy mouth impure has dared disclaim,
     Urged by the wretched impotence of shame,
     Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid
     To laws infirm, and liberty decayed;
     Has begged Ambition to forgive the show;
     Has told Corruption thou wert ne’er her foe;
     Has boasted in thy country’s awful ear,
     Her gross delusion when she held thee dear;
     How tame she followed thy tempestuous call,
     And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all—­
     Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old
     For laws subverted, and for cities sold! 
     Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt,
     The oaths you perjured, and the blood you spilt;
     Yet must you one untempted vileness own,
     One dreadful palm reserved for him alone: 
     With studied arts his country’s praise to spurn,
     To beg the infamy he did not earn,
     To challenge hate when honor was his due,
     And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew.