MODERN FRANCE: 
 
 POEM. 
 
 B Y 
 
 GEORGE RICHARDS, M. A. 
 
 FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE. 
 
 RUPTO FOEDERE REGNI, 
 CERTATUM TOTIS CONCUSSI VIRIBUS ORBIS, 
 JUSQUE DATUM SCELERI. 
 
 Lucan. Pharfal. lib. i. 
 
 OXFORD: 
 
 SOLD BY J. COOKE; 
 
 SY G. G. J. AND I. ROBINSON ; F. AND C. RIV1NGTON J T. AND J. EGERTON J 
 AND J, STOCKDALE, LONDON ; AND W. LUNN, CAMBRIDGE! 
 
 M DCC xcnr.
 
 [ 4 ] 
 
 But from thefe dirts, my Sons, Britannia cried, 
 Her plumy Warriors marfhaU'd at her fide, 
 Where riling proud, in old and awful might, 
 
 The towers of Dover fhade the mountain's height, 
 
 From thefe bold cliffs, that overhang the main, 
 
 And circle Freemen, drive her maddening train. 
 
 High from thefe rocks let waving pendants dream ; 
 
 Far o'er the feas let freely armour gleam ; 
 
 Dark from each cleft bid threatening cannons frown, 
 
 Aiul-creded files the naked fummits crown. 
 
 So mould yon Tyrants dare, with defperate prow, 
 
 To plough the founding waves, that roll below ; 
 
 Not one returning foe (hall e'er recline 
 
 Beneath the cludcrs of his blufhing vine; 
 
 Nor fpread with chequer'd iriade of olives pale 
 
 The dreams, that wander through Roudillon's vale. 
 
 llurl'd ceafelefs hence terrific balls fhall glare 
 
 In fiery arches thro' the midnight air ; 
 
 O'er the white cliffs the burning barks fhall fhine, 
 
 And fpread their radiance round the awful brine. 
 
 Ah ! haplcfs realm, to every ill a prey ! 
 Once wing'd with blifs thy moments dole away. 
 
 Thy
 
 C 5 ] 
 
 Thy funny hills with purple vineyards glow'd ; 
 
 Through wavy grain thy murmuring currents flow'd. 
 
 In elmed vales, by many a filent flood, 
 
 With fpiry towers thy hallow'd convents flood, 
 
 Where lone Devotion footh'd the fainted breaft, 
 
 The world forgotten, and the heart at reft. 
 
 Though ftern Opprefiion rais'd his iron wheel, 
 
 And wrung from needy hinds their hard-earn' d meal ; 
 
 The race all happy, as when time begun, 
 
 Sang to the plains, and wanton' d in the fun, 
 Born but to fmile, and dance their hours away, 
 And fpread their glittering plumage to the day. 
 Where echoing Seine thro' gay Lutetia flows, 
 The Tent of Blifs with filken ftreamers rofe : 
 Beauty and Youth fat fmiling at the door, 
 And airy footfteps beat the painted floor ; 
 Fancy above with golden trelTes flew, 
 And wav'd her veft of many a gaudy hue ; 
 Aerial founds around, beneath, above, 
 Stole on the fenfe, and lull'd the heart to love. 
 From Ruffian fnows, from Pifa's olive bowers, 
 From my imperial London's glorious towers, 
 
 B 2 The
 
 [ 6 ] 
 
 The Youths of Europe crofs'd the ftormy brine, 
 Gay as the morn, round Louis' throne to fhine. 
 Like tairv forms, they led the merry dance, 
 Pointed the jeft, and fhot th' enlivening glance ; 
 Softcn'd their fouls beneath a kinder clime, 
 And gave to joy the funny hours of prime. 
 
 But all is paft. Along the wafted plains, 
 The hollow vales, and high o'er-arched fanes, 
 The piercing clarions breathe their fearful found ; 
 And the dread war-horfe beats the echoing ground. 
 No longer vocal with the midnight quires, 
 Unpeopled convents fink with all their fpires. 
 Negle&ed vines their withering heads bow down ; 
 And wild with weeds untended fallows frown. 
 Age goes half-famifh'd down among the dead, 
 And infant Want fad-plaining pines for bread. 
 Gay gallant youths, all-blooming, day by day, 
 From weeping hamlets take their mournful way, 
 Wild o'er devoted provinces to fly 
 With flaughter, wafte, and want — and then to die. 
 
 No
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
 No thoughtlefs raptures in the heart beat high, 
 Glow on the cheek, and brighten in the eye : 
 But lone in cities wander dark Defpair, 
 Pale Fear, and mute Diftruft, and bending Care, 
 With flow and fullen gait and defultory air. 
 There every ftreet refounds a fuiferer's moan ; 
 And each fad gale comes loaded with a groan. 
 Spirits of Death walk frighted Paris o'er ; 
 O'erflow her highways with her people's gore : 
 Feaft on the flefh, that fhrines the heavenly foul, 
 And mix from human veins the murderer's bowl. 
 The favage, panting under Indian ikies, 
 Red with the blood of human facrifice, 
 Would lift in fad amaze the monftrous tales, 
 And blefs his gentler tribes and happier vales. 
 
 See at the helm a daring band reclin'd, 
 Loaded with every crime of human kind, 
 Men who o'er patriot chieftains forc'd their way, 
 By bold injuftice to imperial fway ; 
 Bow'd a great people, whom they feem'd to free, 
 By fouleft wrongs and ruthlefs tyranny : 
 
 Loos'd
 
 [ 8 ] 
 
 Loos'd focial man from every mild controul, 
 
 That fweetens lite and purities the foul ; 
 
 \iul back rcturn'd him, Nature's rugged child, 
 
 ! o roam a Savage through the woods and wild. 
 
 Thence, juftly dreading Heaven's vindictive rod, 
 
 To hum their terrors they denied their God ; 
 
 And, giving earthly crimes more ample room, 
 
 Struck from their faith the realms beyond the tomb. 
 
 To freedom bad majeftic temples rife, 
 
 And wav'd her glorious dreamer thro' the flues, 
 
 Yet plung'd their fteel in every nobler heart, 
 
 That greatly bore the free-born Patriot's part. 
 
 All, in whofe veins their grandfires' generous blood, 
 Beating to glory, roll'd its faithful flood ; 
 All, whofe high fouls on lawlefs power look'd down, 
 And, what their hearts difclaim'd, difdain'd to own ', 
 All, who with lifted hands their God rever'd, 
 And fill'd thofe temples, which their fathers rear'd ; 
 All from their native bowers, in dead of night, 
 Breathlefs with fpeed, and pallid with affright, 
 The flaughtering poniard prefling from behind, 
 And veils of murderers founding in the wind, 
 
 Flew
 
 [•9 ] 
 
 Flew to the mores and feas ; — in fragile bark 
 
 To tempt the fearful ocean wild and dark ; 
 
 Mute with defpair to hear the tempeft rave 
 
 Loud round the prow, which broke the mountain wave j 
 
 To hold their defperate progrefs 'mid the ftorm, 
 
 And face the fpectre Death's tremendous form. 
 
 Full oft has Pity, wandering round this more, 
 
 Liften'd to hear the diftant darning oar : 
 
 Oft from thefe cliffs has Mercy ftretch'd her hand, 
 
 To lead the finking fugitives to land. 
 
 You faw, while then, of every joy bereft, 
 Cold on your mores the languid band were left, 
 No earthly fpot whereon to lay their head, 
 And wandering hopelefs of their daily bread : — 
 You faw -, — and round them all your bleffings pour'd, 
 Warm'd at your hearth, and cheriih'd at your board, 
 Laid them at evening down to gentle reft, 
 And hung your fleeces round their naked breaft. 
 
 Unhappy Louis, he with effort vain 
 Flew forth from mifery to a foreign plain : 
 
 For
 
 [ to ] 
 
 For ftern Misfortune met him on his way ; 
 
 111 did the proud unfeeling race repay 
 
 The gentle virtues of his happier day. 
 
 His conftant foul with chafte affection glow'd ; 
 
 Low at his Maker's fhrine he daily bow'd. 
 
 His heart was made for pity ; and his fway 
 
 Led youthful merit blufhing into day. 
 
 He, when his France lay bleeding on the ground, 
 
 Felt as a man, and figh'd to heal her wound ; 
 
 Not, like an Eaftern Tyrant, made her groan 
 
 To pamper paflion, and emblaze his throne ; 
 
 But eas'd the yoke, that funk her foul of yore ; 
 
 And gave the fury of his fceptre o'er : 
 
 Ev'n from imperial ftate came down — to be 
 
 The Firft of Freemen, whom himfelf fet free ; 
 
 More truly joy'd to aid the patriot band 
 
 In pouring plenty through the blifsful land, 
 
 Than Charlemagne, when great in arms he fhone, 
 
 And marmall'd mighty monarchs round his throne. 
 
 Lamented Prince, all mournful was thy doom, 
 When ruthLfs murderers funk thee to the tomb. 
 
 O may
 
 [ II ] 
 
 O may thy foul the joy of angels know, 
 And find that mercy, which it felt below ! 
 
 Though fummon'd forth to die, midft hopelefs pains 
 Thou left' ft thy Queen in prifon and in chains ; 
 Though, on thy way, no iigh upheav'd the bread, 
 Nor pitying Chriftian bad thy fpirit reft ; 
 Though Hatred frowning faw thy meeken'd air, 
 Check' d thy laft pardoning words, and ftopp'd thy dying 
 
 prayer : 
 Yet to defert fhall human kind be true, 
 And Virtue meet on earth her awful due. 
 Ages to come fhall annual pomps beftow, 
 And give the confecrated day to woe : 
 The hallow' d tapers o'er thy tomb fhall fhine, 
 And facred hymns be chaunted round thy fhrine ; 
 While pious millions at their altars bend 
 To blefs the fpirit of their martyr' d friend. 
 The penfive prieft with fad delight fhall tread 
 The folemn fpot, where holy Louis bled : 
 There melting Pity of thy fall fhall tell ; 
 There on thy memory lonely Thought fhall dwell : 
 
 C And
 
 [ « ] 
 
 And weeping Freedom endlefs vigils keep, 
 
 fainted fufferer, where thy afhes fleep. 
 
 With Thee, O Prince, has fallen each -generous art, 
 Which breathes a purer fpirit o'er the heart. 
 Science, on pinions that upbears the mind, 
 And lifts to loftier ftate the human kind, 
 No more with foothing awe explores the fky, 
 While midnight orbs illumine worlds on high ; 
 No more on Andes dares the mountain florin 
 To trace the rolling fphere's majeftic form : 
 But barbarous legions, fierce and unconfin'd, 
 Arm againft truth, and war upon the mind ; 
 Deride the awful wifdom of their fires ; 
 Hurl round their fculptur'd tombs confuming fires ; 
 And o'er the world their darken'd offspring caff, 
 Reft of the guiding lore of ages paff . 
 
 And fee, from Gallia's broken realm is fled 
 The lordly pomp in tilts and tournies bred : 
 
 1 hat pomp, whence man with nobler thought was fir'd, 
 His heart was foften'd, and his mind afpir'd : 
 
 Thence
 
 [ 13 ] 
 
 Thence the chafte fair, triumphant o'er his foul, 
 
 Broke his wild paflions to her foft controul : 
 
 Thence manly honour touch'd his gallant frame, 
 
 Fill'd him with truth, and wak'd his fenfe to fhame. 
 
 O proud Verfailles, with conquering monarchs gay, 
 
 How are thy awful glories paft away ! 
 
 Once in thy domes, enkindling generous pride, 
 
 The azure ribband grac'd the warrior's fide ; 
 
 Bright at the breaft the ftar of honour fhin'd, 
 
 And round the knee the princely garter twin'd. 
 
 Ye long departed fouls of high-born men, 
 
 Illuftrious fhades of Conde and Turenne, 
 
 Mourn o'er the ruins of your titled race, 
 
 Your lineal valour, and defcendant grace : 
 
 No more your blood which proudeft guerdons won, 
 
 Swells in the temples of th' ennobled fon ; 
 
 No more the valiant chieftain founds a name, 
 
 And calls a long pofterity to fame : 
 
 The glorious fplendor of the Weft is o'er, 
 
 And love and gallant deeds fhall grace its courts no more. 
 
 For, O my Britons, you have fnatch'd the fpear, 
 
 To fight for all that makes your being dear. 
 
 C 2 Think
 
 [ 1+ ] 
 
 Think not, while forth your pecrlefs fquadrons go, 
 You (bund vour clarions 'gainft a free-born foe. 
 No, gallant warriors ; Freedom is my child, 
 I nur&'d the infant on my mountains wild ; 
 Taught her in youth with front ferene to fvveep 
 In fcythed chariots round the fearful ftecp : 
 High from thefe cliffs, when Julius fled the plain, 
 She dafh'd th' imperial eagle to the main : 
 My Barons bold (lie rang'd on Thames's ftrand, 
 And wrench' d my charter from the tyrant's hand. 
 O'er Tiber's wave while papal banners play'd, 
 And blafted Europe droop'd beneath their fhade ; 
 Here haughty Rome her impious fway forebore, 
 And cowled plunderers fled Britannia's fhore. 
 
 Nor yet her thoughts to Albion fhe confin'd ; 
 Her generous bofom beat for all mankind. 
 Oft from thefe cliffs, but ah! with tearful eyes, 
 She turn'd to happier funs and milder flues ; 
 Where cooling ftreams through fouthern valleys ran, 
 And echoed mournful to the woes of man ; 
 Where by the cluftering vine and myrtle fhadc 
 With bondage bow'd Hefperian hinds were laid : 
 
 White
 
 [ *5 ] 
 
 White o'er the hills their tents the warriors fpread, 
 At Blenheim triumph'd, and at Pavia bled, 
 Only to lord it proudlier o'er the plains, 
 And bind the Denizens in ninefold chains ; 
 While Auftria's Eagle high o'er Scheld might (bar, 
 Or Gallia's Lilies made th' Iberian more. 
 
 But late amaz'd a wondrous fcene I faw, 
 On which admiring nations hung with awe. 
 When legions rofe, and fuming altars blaz'd, 
 And an whole realm one lofty paean rais'd ; 
 When ardent millions drew their mining fteel, 
 And greatly vow'd their lives to Gallia's weal ; 
 I thrill'd with joy, I blefs'd the godlike caufe, 
 I wav'd my plumy helmet in applaufe : 
 Fir'd them with Albion's patriot feats of yore; 
 Shew'd them my mountains red with freemen's gore ; 
 Pointed, where William bad his ftreamers fly, 
 Or Hampden, faint with wounds, retir'd to die. 
 
 Freedom, I hop'd, thus burfting into day, 
 Afar and wide would hold her glorious way. 
 
 With
 
 [ I* ] 
 
 With fancy's eye I law die goddefs rove, 
 Where golden Tagus laves his Orange grove : 
 Wavy with plumes I faw her helmet gleam 
 On myrtle hills, that rife o'er Arno's ftream: 
 Soaring fhc flew to footh the Exile's woe 
 Through lone Siberia's funlefs wafte of fnow. 
 Methought, O rapid wildly-wandering Rhine, 
 I faw thy caftled cliffs their towers decline. 
 My opening thought in fweet delufion ftray'd : 
 Ye Orient realms, be free, I rapturous faid : 
 The founds, now echoed by the viny Rhone, 
 Shall make imperial Othman on his throne: 
 Tigris fhall fee her hateful harams fall, 
 And Freedom's pendant ftream from Cairo's wall. 
 Ev'n fouthern Clans, that drink of Niger's tide, 
 Shall teach their tawny babes, why Cato died : 
 And Orcllana roll her fealike flood, 
 Red with the crufh'd Iberian's tyrant blood. 
 A race more noble o'er the globe fhall rife, 
 And none but freemen gaze upon the fkies. 
 
 Such was the lofty fcenc my glowing thought, 
 Gladden'd to phrenzy, in my bofbm wrought. 
 
 But
 
 [ *7 ] 
 
 But all is fled. In Seine's fequefter'd vale 
 Lies wounded Freedom, fickly, faint, and pale. 
 All fad her broken armour gleams around ; 
 And brother's blood imbrues the purple ground. 
 Murder an headlefs King before her lays ; 
 And burning palaces at diftance blaze : 
 While defperate Fiends, to fpeed her rueful end, 
 Have dy'd her lance in gore, and hail'd her friend. 
 
 Lo ! round the globe their plundering hordes they pour, 
 And rafhly guide their prows to Britain's more. 
 
 To curb thefe Fiends, who madly burft their bounds, 
 As boifterous feas o'er bear Batavian mounds, 
 Go forth my gallant fons. Your country's weal 
 Through unborn ages hangs upon your fteel : 
 And Louis' fpirit, hovering o'er the walls, 
 Guides to his murderers' breaft your vengeful balls. 
 
 But, O my Britons, when the field is won, 
 And the wild wafteful work of war is done; 
 When Conqueft bears your ftandard through the ikies, 
 And makes her plumes before you, as fhe flies ; 
 
 O then,
 
 [ '8 ] 
 
 O then, my ions, your common being fcan, 
 
 And give to Gallia, what is due to man : 
 
 Think on the free-born blood, that fwells your veins, 
 
 And fear to bind a generous race in chains : 
 
 Give them that freedom, focial and refm'd, 
 
 Which awes the pailions, and fublimes the mind : 
 
 Give them that heavenly patriotic flame, 
 
 Which glow'd of yore in Somers' godlike frame : 
 
 Give them in Nature's foremoft rank to ftand, 
 
 And walk with high-foul'd Britons hand in hand.
 
 In Page 12, after Line 16, the following Verfes were added in the Recitation 
 
 at the 'Theatre. 
 
 NOT fa, my generous fons : — fevered truth. 
 Which fages found of yore, informs my youth. 
 Midft arching elms, that bend o'er Cherwell's dream, 
 Loft in poetic trance they wildly dream : 
 There beauteous rife before the opening thought, 
 What Virgil fung, or facred Plato taught : 
 Learning, who there her Addifon refin'd, 
 And fill'd her moral Johnfon's mighty mind, 
 Who, penfive wand' ring under folemn bow'rs, 
 Or proudly gazing on her awful tow'rs, 
 Has claim'd my glorious worthies for her guide, 
 Ormond's illuftrious foul, and faithful Hyde: 
 She now, dear Maid, her Guildford laid at reft, 
 By ev'ry friend of fcience mourn'd and blefs'd, 
 Calls noble Bentinck forth to grace her ftage ; 
 Gives to his facred truft the riling age ; 
 Beftows the meed Eliza's Leicefter bore ; 
 And feats him, where her Alfred fat of yore.
 
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