VERSES Written at MONTAUBAN in FRANCE, 1750

Tarn, how delightful wind thy willow'd waves, But ah! they fructify a land of slaves! In vain thy bare-foot, sun-burnt peasants hide, With luscious grapes you' hill's romantic side; No cups nectareous shall their toils repay, The priest's, the soldier's, and the fermier's prey: Vain glows this sun in cloudless glory drest, That strikes fresh vigour thro' the pining breast; Give me, beneath a colder, changeful sky, My soul's best, only pleasure, LIBERTY! What millions perish'd near thy mournful flood, When the red papal tyrant cry'd out—"Blood!— Less fierce the Saracen, and quiver'd Moor, That dash'd thy infants 'gainst the stones of yore. Be warn'd, ye nations round; and trembling see Dire superstition quench humanity! By all the chiefs in Freedom's batiles lost; By wise and virtuous ALFRED's awful ghost; By old GALGACUS' scythed, iron car, That swiftly whirling thro' the walks of war, Dash'd Roman blood, and crush'd the foreign throngs; By holy Druids' courage-breathing songs; By fierce BONDUCA's shield, and foaming steeds; By the bold peers that met on Thames's meads; By the fifth HENRY's helm, and lightning spear, O LIBERTY, my warm petition hear; Be ALBION still thy joy! with her remain, Long as the surge shall lash her oak-crown'd plain!