Sound the loud blast of treason through the land;
Scoff at thy dangers with unnatural mirth,
And execrate the soil which gave them birth;
With jaundiced eye thy splendid triumphs view,
And give to France the palm to Britain due:
Or,—when loud strains of gratulation ring,[[34]]
And lowly bending to the Eternal King,
Thy Sovereign bids a nation’s praise arise
In grateful incense to the fav’ring skies—
Cast o’er each solemn scene a scornful glance,