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;