One might believe that natural miseries...

One might believe that natural miseries

Had blasted France, and made of it a land

Unfit for Men; and that in one great Band

Her Sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.

But‘ tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze

Shed gentle favors; rural works are there;

And ordinary business without care;

Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!

How piteous then that there should be such dearth

Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite

To work against themselves such fell despite:

Should come in phrenzy and in drunken mirth,

Impatient to put out the only light

Of Liberty that yet remains on Earth!