On spring's sweet close, when fostering Nature strows
The earth with flowers, and all creation glows,
They rested in Italia's pleasant vales,
Till vernal showers were chas'd by warmer gales;
Then SELMO sought to rove, whom nought can charm,
Though placid peace here breath'd a transient calm;
For still he saw, with acrimonious eye,
The powers of priestcraft and of tyranny,
With indignation heard th' uplifted rod
Of vile oppressors term'd the hand of GOD.