--they dared on,
Plunging at once into untravelled realms,
And bringing, as the harvest of their toil,
Arms which will make each potent talisman,
Each charm, and spell, and dire enchantment sink
In endless infamy--without a hope
To trick their bloated, and their wither'd limbs,
In any Proteus vestment of disguise,
Again to awe and ruinate the world.

Oh! my dear brother, little did I think
These lines would be prophetic, yet to me
They seem so; for I since have felt deep woe,
And passed through seas of anguish to attain
A view of mysteries wonderful and sad--
Since they are rivetted, through every clime,
With shame, and guilt, and wretchedness on all
That bear what only is the _curse_ of life,
Whilst they remain, which have confronted time,
Wearing the semblance, sporting with the names
Of truth and valour, liberty and God,
Successfully, through each recorded age,
But yet _may_ fall, and will, I trust and hope!



FINIS.