by John Moultrie
In youth's impeteous days thy heart was warm,
Thy tongue uncheck'd, thy spirit bold and high,
With such blind zeal for miscall'd liberty,
That friend and foe look'd on thee with alarm.
But since maturer years dispell'd the charm,
And wean'd thee from thy first idolatry,
With what foul gibes doth faction's spiteful fry,
Venting its rage, around thee shriek and swarm!
Recreant or renegade the mildest name
With which they greet thee; but thy heart meanwhile
Is pure beyond the reach of venal blame,
Free, firm, unstain'd by selfishness or guile,
Too noble for even party to defile:
If thou art faithless, let me be the same.
Last updated July 21, 2017