But when your early Care shall have design'd
To plan the Soul and mould the waxen Mind;
When you shall pour upon his tender Breast
Ideas that must stand an Age's test,
Oh! there imprint with strongest deepest dye
The lovely form of Goddess LIBERTY!
For her in Senates be he train'd to plead,
For her in Battles be he taught to bleed.
Lead him where Dover's rugged cliff resounds
With dashing seas, fair Freedom's honest bounds,
Point to yon azure Carr bedropp'd with gold,
Whose weight the necks of Gallia's sons uphold;
Where proudly sits an iron-scepter'd Queen,
And fondly triumphs o'er the prostrate scene,
Cry, That is Empire! shun her baleful path,
Her Words are Slavery, and her Touch is Death!
Thro' wounds and blood the Fury drives her way,
And murthers half, to make the rest her prey.