IX
The root of our infirmity is found
In English liberty, grandly achieved,
Yet little understood and ill conceived,
And sprouting rank from the uncultured ground.
Too much the thought prevails that man unbound
Is man made free, a life oft unretrieved
From chaos by a content; undeceived
Only when licence runs the ship aground.
O England! Mother! whom thine every child
Loves, surely, to the last, forgive that some
Must fear the loss of thy benignant strength
Through the mind’s error—lest, too freely wild,
Thy liberty of indifference become
A liberty of impotence at length.
Rastatt, 9th May