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     The braying of the prophet's ass
Betrayed the angel's menace!

So when Guy Fawkes, in petticoats,
     And azure-tinted hose on,
Was twisting from thy love-lorn sheets
     The slow-match of explosion—
An earthquake blast that would have tossed
     The Union as a feather,
Thy instinct saved a perilled land
     And perilled purse together.

Just think of Carolina's sage
     Sent whirling like a Dervis,
Of Quattlebum in middle air
     Performing strange drill-service!
,Doomed like Assyria's lord of old,
     Who fell before the Jewess,
Or sad Abimelech, to sigh,
     ‘Alas! a woman slew us!’

Thou saw'st beneath a fair disguise
     The danger darkly lurking,
And maiden bodice dreaded more
     Than warrior's steel-wrought jerkin
How keen to scent the hidden plot!
     How prompt wert thou to balk it,
With patriot zeal and pedler thrift,
     For country and for pocket!

Thy likeness here is doubtless well,
     But higher honor's due it;

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