With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherish'd
One thought, that ever bless'd your cruel foes!
To scatter rage and trait'rous guilt
Where Peace her jealous home had built;
A patriot race to disinherit
Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear,
And with inexpiable spirit
To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer.—
O France! that mockest heav'n, adult'rous, blind,
And patriot only in pernicious toils!
Are these thy boasts, champion of human kind:
To mix with kings in the low lull of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murd'rous prey;
T' insult the shrine of liberty with spoils
From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray!

Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
They burst their manacles, and wear the name
Of freedom graven on a heavier chain!