TO THOMAS MOORE.
43
2.
When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding sheet
O'er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has poured.
3.
Though black as his heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
Yet this is the dew
Which the tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd!
December 24, 1816.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 58.]
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 58.]
TO THOMAS MOORE.
What are you doing now,
Oh Thomas Moore?
What are you doing now,
Oh Thomas Moore?
Sighing or suing now,
Rhyming or wooing now,
Billing or cooing now,
Which, Thomas Moore?
But the Carnival 's coming,
Oh Thomas Moore!
The Carnival 's coming,
