kindlings of a spirit that of old
Made those walls tremble through its earthly mould.
Now a mild glory round its presence play'd,
And 'spoke from heav'nly courts the awful shade.
Its brow wore high reproof; the lifted arm
Was stretch'd for pleading; and there was a charm
Of coming eloquence, as firm it stood,
Like one whose rank was with the great and good;
And well that rank was own'd, when ERSKINE cried,
"'Tis England's CHATHAM!"--"CHATHAM!" all replied.

Like the dead stillness of the summer air,
When pregnant clouds of shrouded fire are there,
They sat:--and like the voice of thunder broke
The rolling periods, as the vision spoke.
"Is this," he cried, "the consecrated floor,
Where England's peerage stood, as known of yore,
Jealous of honour, zealous for the laws;
Justice their sword, and England's weal their cause?
Are these the walls whose echoes then return'd
No words that chasten'd gallantry had spurn'd?
Is this the throne whose last loved tenant view'd
His people's morals as the monarch's good?
Display'd beneath the sov'reign diadem,
DOMESTIC VIRTUE, Britain's dearest gem;
And bade _Example_ to _his_ court proclaim
What taught, unpractis'd, is the teacher's shame?
Ah no! that throne is chang'd; this gew-gaw thing
Befits a raree-shew, not England's King!
And can it be that Brunswick's cherish'd heir
Will also change the laws which plac'd him there?
Forget the STUART'S FATE, the BRUNSWICK'S OATH;
Yet make his sorrowing subjects dwell on both?
Forbid it, Heaven! Far other thoughts he knew,
When yet his talents with his graces grew;
When Genius, Beauty, in his circle ran,
Admired the prince, and half adored the man.
Nor now _thus_ fall'n!--Yet whence this hot cabal
Of treasury bench, and bench episcopal?
These monstrous portents that before me rise
Of mitred pimps, and coronetted spies!
This deep, dark plotting, spreading net and snare,
By hands that used their country's ark to bear?
This hateful truckling to misguided power,
Combined in palace, temple, hall, and bower,
To crush an outcast Queen, with evidence
By facts refuted, ridiculed by sense?--
Tales that would merit but an equal fate,
Told of the veriest wench in Billingsgate!
FATHERS! and BRITONS! whence this alien band
Of miscreant lechers bribed from