The Communes spread, the gay Departments smile,
Fair Freedom’s Plant o’ershades the laughing isle:
Fired with new hopes, the exulting peasant sees
The Gallic streamer woo the British breeze;[[252]]
While, pleased to watch its undulating charms,
The smiling infant[[253]] spreads his little arms.
Ye sylphs of Death! on demon pinions flit
Where the tall Guillotine is raised for Pitt:
To the poised plank tie fast the monster’s back,[[254]]
Close the nice slider, ope the expectant sack;