II.
The bard of Ferney, plac’d on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch’d the wooden lyre:
The notes, tho’ lame, ascend as high
As civic joys require.
The song began from G—K’s toil,
Who left his Litchfield’s native soil,
(Such were his hopes of golden spoil)
King Richard’s crooked form bely’d the man: