To the Right Hon. William Pitt

For Millions born! of sure though early fame!
Inspir'd Avenger of a Nation's right!
Thee — Britain found, in her tempestuous night,
Waving aloft imperial Honour's flame,
Tho' Belial — starting from the bands of shame —
Threaten'd in radiant panoply the fight.
No more those phantoms can elude the sight,
That mutter'd spells too hideous for a name,
With shapeless gloom upon the Regal bed
Hovering — I mark'd them in their flight — the pale
Half-rebel Fear to venal homage bred,
And Perfidy, that caught the shifting gale
Obsequious — idiot Scorn, tho' Nature bled, —
And perjur'd Craft in Duty's hallow'd veil.
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