text: Oh no! Be still ye murmurings of weakness! And thou O Bard! with rapture glow: Thou hast not bent with slavish meekness Before our age's shame thy brow; The splendours of the wicked spurning Thou wav'dst a torch terrific burning Whose lurid lustre fiercely fell On that foul nest of vulture-rulers; Loud rang thy lash and reach'd them well