That hour is not for us, but 't is for you:

And as, in the great joy of your Millennium,

You hardly will believe such things were true

As now occur, I thought that I would pen you 'em;

But may their very memory perish too!—

Yet if perchance remembered, still disdain you 'em

More than you scorn the savages of yore,

Who painted their bare limbs, but not with gore.