Addressed To J. Horne Tooke And The Company Who Met On June 28Th, 1796, To Celebrate His Poll At The Westminster Election

1. 1Britons! when last ye met, with distant streak
2. 2So faintly promis'd the pale Dawn to break:
3. 3So dim it stain'd the precincts of the Sky
4. 4E'en Expectation gaz'd with doubtful Eye.
5. 5But now such fair Varieties of Light
6. 6O'ertake the heavy sailing Clouds of Night;
7. 7Th' Horizon kindles with so rich a red,
8. 8That tho' the Sun still hides his glorious head
9. 9Th' impatient Matin-bird, assur'd of Day,
10. 10Leaves his low nest to meet its earliest ray;
11. 11Loud the sweet song of Gratulation sings,
12. 12And high in air claps his rejoicing wings!
13. 13Patriot and Sage! whose breeze-like Spirit first
14. 14The lazy mists of Pedantry dispers'd
15. 15(Mists in which Superstition's pigmy band
16. 16Seem'd Giant Forms, the Genii of the Land!),
17. 17Thy struggles soon shall wak'ning Britain bless,
18. 18And Truth and Freedom hail thy wish'd success.
19. 19Yes Tooke! tho' foul Corruption's wolfish throng
20. 20Outmalice Calumny's imposthum'd Tongue,
21. 21Thy Country's noblest and determin'd Choice,
22. 22Soon shalt thou thrill the Senate with thy voice;
23. 23With gradual Dawn bid Error's phantoms flit,
24. 24Or wither with the lightning's flash of Wit;
25. 25Or with sublimer mien and tones more deep,
26. 26Charm sworded Justice from mysterious Sleep,
27. 27'By violated Freedom's loud Lament,
28. 28Her Lamps extinguish'd and her Temple rent;
29. 29By the forc'd tears her captive Martyrs shed;
30. 30By each pale Orphan's feeble cry for bread;
31. 31By ravag'd Belgium's corse-impeded Flood,
32. 32And Vendee steaming still with brothers' blood!'
33. 33And if amid the strong impassion'd Tale,
34. 34Thy Tongue should falter and thy Lips turn pale;
35. 35If transient Darkness film thy aweful Eye,
36. 36And thy tir'd Bosom struggle with a sigh:
37. 37Science and Freedom shall demand to hear
38. 38Who practis'd on a Life so doubly dear;
39. 39Infus'd the unwholesome anguish drop by drop,
40. 40Pois'ning the sacred stream they could not stop!
41. 41Shall bid thee with recover'd strength relate
42. 42How dark and deadly is a Coward's Hate:
43. 43What seeds of death by wan Confinement sown,
44. 44When Prison-echoes mock'd Disease's groan!
45. 45Shall bid th' indignant Father flash dismay,
46. 46And drag the unnatural Villain into Day
47. 47Who to the sports of his flesh'd Ruffians left
48. 48Two lovely Mourners of their Sire bereft!
49. 49'Twas wrong, like this, which Rome's first Consul bore,
50. 50So by th' insulted Female's name he swore
51. 51Ruin (and rais'd her reeking dagger high)
52. 52Not to the Tyrants but the Tyranny!