I plunge into the limpid stream, that laves
The silent vale; or, on its grassy banks,
Beneath some oak’s majestic shade recline,
Envying the vagrant fishes, as they pass,
Their boon of freedom; till the distant sound
Of tolling curfew warns me to depart.
Thus under tyrant-pow’r I groan, oppress’d
With worse than slavery; yet my free-born soul
Her native warmth forgets not, nor will brook
Menace, or taunt, from proud insulting peer;