Howe'er this be there never were yet
Seven letters of the alphabet,
That 'twixt them formed so grim a spell,
Or scared a Land of Gulls so well,
As did this awful riddle-me-ree
Of T. H. E. D. E. B. T.
* * * * *
Hark!--it is struggling Freedom's cry;
"Help, help, ye nations, or I die;
"'Tis Freedom's fight and on the field
"Where I expire _your_ doom is sealed."
The Gull-King hears the awakening call,
He hath summoned his Peers and Patriots all,
And he asks. "Ye noble Gulls, shall we
"Stand basely by at the fall of the Free,
"Nor utter a curse nor deal a blow?"
And they answer with voice of thunder, "No."
Out fly their flashing swords in the air!--
But,--why do they rest suspended there?
What sudden blight, what baleful charm,
Hath chilled each eye and checkt each arm?
Alas! some withering hand hath thrown
The veil from off that fatal stone,
And pointing now with sapless finger,
Showeth where dark those letters linger,--
Letters four and letters three,
T. H. E. D. E. B. T.
At sight thereof, each lifted brand
Powerless falls from every hand;
In vain the Patriot knits his brow,--
Even talk, his staple, fails him now.
In vain the King like a hero treads,
His Lords of the Treasury shake their heads;
And to all his talk of "brave and free,"
No answer getteth His Majesty
But "T.
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