Ere With Cold Beads Of Midnight Dew Had Mingled Tears Of Thine, I Grieved, Fond Youth! That Thou Shouldst Sue To Haughty Geraldine. Immoveable By Generous Sighs, She Glories In A Train Who Drag, Beneath Our Native Skies, An Oriental Chain. Pine Not Like Them With Arms Across, Forgetting In Thy Care How The Fast-Rooted Trees Can Toss Their Branches In Mid Air. The Humblest Rivulet Will Take Its Own Wild Liberties; And, Every Day, The Imprisoned Lake Is Flowing In The Breeze. Then, Crouch No More On Suppliant Knee, But Scorn With Scorn Outbrave; A Briton, Even In Love, Should Be A Subject, Not A Slave!