on glenriddell's fox breaking his chain

a fragment, 1791.

thou, liberty, thou art my theme;

not such as idle poets dream,

who trick thee up a heathen goddess

that a fantastic cap and rod has;

such stale conceits are poor and silly;

i paint thee out, a highland filly,

a sturdy, stubborn, handsome dapple,

as sleek's a mouse, as round's an apple,

that when thou pleasest canst do wonders;

but when thy luckless rider blunders,

or if thy fancy should demur there,

wilt break thy neck ere thou go further.

these things premised, i sing a fox,

was caught among his native rocks,

and to a dirty kennel chained,

how he his liberty regained.

glenriddell! whig without a stain,

a whig in principle and grain,

could'st thou enslave a free-born creature,

a native denizen of nature?

how could'st thou, with a heart so good,

(a better ne'er was sluiced with blood!)

nail a poor devil to a tree,

that ne'er did harm to thine or thee?

the staunchest whig glenriddell was,

quite frantic in his country's cause;

and oft was reynard's prison passing,

and with his brother-whigs canvassing

the rights of men, the powers of women,

with all the dignity of freemen.

sir reynard daily heard debates

of princes', kings', and nations' fates,