Fir’d at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring, Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, And brighter streams than fam’d Hydaspes glide. 320 There all around the gentlest breezes stray, There gentle music melts on every spray; Creation’s mildest charms are there combin’d: Extremes are only in the master’s mind! Stern o’er each bosom reason holds her state, 325 With daring aims irregularly great; Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by; Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashion’d, fresh from Nature’s hand, 330 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to imagin’d right, above control; While e’en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man. Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur’d here, 335 Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy; But, foster’d e’en by freedom, ills annoy. That independence Britons prize too high Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie; 340 The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown. Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, Minds combat minds, repelling and repell’d; Ferments arise, imprison’d factions roar, 345 Represt ambition struggles round her shore; Till, over-wrought, the general system feels Its motions stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. Nor this the worst. As nature’s ties decay, As duty, love, and honour fail to sway, 350 Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. Hence all obedience bows to these alone, And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown; Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, 355 The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, Where kings have toil’d and poets wrote for fame, One sink of level avarice shall lie, And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour’d die. 360 Yet think not, thus when Freedom’s ills I state, I mean to flatter kings, or court the great: Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, Far from my bosom drive the low desire; And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel 365 The rabble’s rage, and tyrant’s angry steel; Thou transitory flower, alike undone By proud contempt, or favour’s fostering sun, Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure! I only would repress them to secure: 370 For just experience tells in every soil, That those who think must govern those who toil; And all that Freedom’s highest aims can reach, Is but to lay proportion’d loads on each. Hence, should one order disproportioned grow, 375 Its double weight must ruin all below.