He plays with skill the pettifogger's part;
Chicanery's brought to succor darkest crime,
Too basely foul t' expose in decent rhyme.
Oh! shades of Littleton and Murray rise,
Where Webster trod and Choate all honor'd lies—
Rise to behold the satyr in their place,
Who points the moral of his clime and race;
And if decay and shame may wake thy grief,
Weep for New England cursed by such a chief.

[Pg 16]

Picture 7."Our hero vowed Magruder's works to take,
Whereof the books no mention deign to make."
Page 23.

[Pg 17]

Oh! hapless hour, when from the stormy North,
This modern Cyclops marched repellent forth,
To slake his thirst for blood and plundered wealth,
Not as the soldier, but by fraud and stealth;
To waft the gales of death with horror rife
On helpless age, and wage with women strife:
To leave at Baltimore and New Orleans
The drunkard's name, or worse, the gibbet's scenes;
To license lust with all a lecher's rage,
And stab the virtue of a Christian age:

[Pg 18]

Picture 8."Born of a race where thrift, with iron rod,
Taught punic faith and mocked the laws of God;
*********
His youth drank in the lessons of his race,
Which stamp'd their impress on his hideous face."
Page 11.

[Pg 19]

This single crime will fix a beastly name,
Fresh in immortal infamy and shame.
Whence comes his martial fame, who thus has soar'd,
While thousands fell and deadly cannon roar'd?
The raw militia of his native State
Had taught him war and made our hero great.
A pot-house soldier, he parades by day,[See picture 1]
And drunk by night, he sighs the foe to slay;
In vision sees the future road to fame,
The bale-fires burn and cities wrapped in flame:
The gathered treasure of a teeming land
Glitters and falls beneath his blood-stained hand;
Plantations smiling, palaces all bright,
Stuff'd with their wealth of plate, dance to his sight,
And drunken Polyphemus [3] grimly swoons,

[Pg 20]

Picture 9."But Io Bacche! Victory comes at last—
Our doughty chief in New Orleans is cast;
The donkey