THE
EMIGRANT.
"Nos patriae fines, et dulcia linquimus arva,
"Nos patriam fugimus;-"Virgil.
"We leave our country and our native plains."
FAST by the margin of a moſſy rill,
That wandered, gurgling, down a heath-clad hill,
An ancient ſhepherd ſtood, oppreſs'd with woe,
And ey'd the ocean's flood that foam'd below;
Where, gently rocking on the riſing tide,
A ſhip's unwonted form was ſeen to ride.
Unwonted, well I ween; for ne'er before,
Had touch'd one keel, the ſolitary ſhore;
Nor had the ſwain's rude footſteps ever ſtray'd,
Beyond the ſhelter of his native ſhade.
His few remaining hairs were ſilver grey,
And his rough face had ſeen a better day.
Around him, bleating, ſtray'd a ſcanty flock,
And a few goats o'erhung the neighbouring rock.
One faithful dog his ſorrows ſeem'd to ſhare,
And ſtrove, with many a trick to eaſe his care.
While o'er his furrow'd cheeks, the ſalt drops ran,
He tun'd his ruſtic reed, and thus began:
" Farewel! farewel! dear Caledonia's ſtrand,
" Rough though thou be, yet ſtill my native land,
" Exil'd from thee I ſeek a foreign ſhore,
" Friends, kindred, country, to behold no more:
" By hard Oppreſſion driv'n, my helpleſs age,
" That ſhould ere now have left Life's buſtling ſtage,
" Is forc'd the ocean's boiſt'rous breaſt to brave,
" In a far foreign land to ſeek a grave.
" And muſt I leave thee then, my little cot!
" Mine and my father's poor, but happy, lot,
" Where I have paſs'd in innocence away,
" Year after year, till Age has turn'd me grey?
{[em}}" Thou, dear companion of my happier life,
" Now to the grave gone down, my virtuous wife,
" 'Twas here you rear'd with fond maternal pride,
" Five comely ſons: three for their country died!
" Two ſtill remain, ſad remnant of the wars,
" Without one mark of honour but their ſcars;
" They live to ſee their fire denied a grave,
" In lands his much lov'd children died to ſave:
" Yet ſtill in peace and ſafety did we live,
" In peace and ſafety more than wealth can give,
" My two remaining boys, with ſturdy hands,
" Rcar'd the ſcant produce of our niggard lands:
" Scant as it was, no more our hearts deſir'd,
" No more from us our gen'rous lord requir'd.
" But ah, ſad chang ! thoſe bleſſed days are o'er,
" And Peace, Content, and Safety charm no more.
" Another lord now rules thoſe wide domains,
" The avaricious tyrant of the plains,
" Far, far from hence he revels life away,
" In guilty pleaſures, our poor means muſt pay.
" The moſſy plains, the mountain's barren brow,
" Muſt now be tortur'd by the rearing plough,
" And, ſpite of nature, crops be taught to riſe,
" Which to theſe northern climes wiſe Heav'n denies.
" In vain, with ſweating brow and weary hands,
" We ſtrive to earn the gold our lord demands,
" While cold and hunger, and the dungeon's gloom,
" Await our failure as its ccrtain doom.
" To ſhun theſe ills that threat my hoary head,
" I ſeek in foreign lands precarious bread;
" Forc'd, tho' my helpleſs age from guilt be pure,
" The pangs of baniſh'd felons to endure;
" And all becauſe theſe hands have vainly try'd
" To force from art what nature has deny'd;
" Becauſe my little all will not ſuffice
" To pay th' inſatiate claims of Avaricc.
" In vain, of richer climates I am told,
" Whoſe hills are rich in gems, whoſe ſtreams are gold,
" I am contented here, I ne'er have feen
" A valc morc fertile, nor a hill more green,
" Nor would I leave this ſweet, though humble cot,
" To ſhare the richeſt monarch's envied lot.
" O! would to Heavcn the alternative were mine,
" Abroad to thrive, or here in want to pine,
" Soon would I chuſe: but ere to-morrow's ſun
" Has o'er my head his radiant journey run,
" I ſhall be robb'd, by what they JUSTICE call,
" By legal ruffians, of my little all:
" Driv'n out to Hunger, Nakedneſs and Grief,
" Without one pitying hand to bring relief.
" Then come oh! ſad alternative to chuſe,
" Come, Baniſhment, I will no more refuſe.
" Go where I may, nor billows, rocks, nor wind,
" Can add of horror to my tortur'd mind;
" On whatſoever coaſt I may be thrown,
" No lord can uſe me harder than my own;
" Even they who tear the limbs and drink the gore,
" Of helpleſs ſtrangers, what can they do more?
" For thee, inſatiate chief! whoſe ruthleſs hand
" For ever drives me from my native land:
" For thee I leave no greater curſe behind,
" Than the fell bodings of a guilty mind;
" Or what were harder to a ſoul like thine,
" To find from avarice thy wealth decline.
" For you, my friends and neighbours, of the vale,
" Who now with kindly tears my fate bewail,
" Soon may your king, whoſe breaſt paternal glows,
" With tendereſt feelings for his peoples woes,
" Soon may the rulers of this mighty land,
" To eaſe your ſorrows ſtretch the helping hand,
" Elſe ſoon, too ſoon, your hapleſs fate ſhall be,
" Like me to ſuffer, to depart like me.
" On your dear native land, from whenee I part,
" Reſt the beſt bleſſing of a broken heart.
" If in ſome future hour, the foe ſhould land
" His hoſtile legions on Britannia's ſtrand,
" May ſhe not then th' alarum found in vain,
" Nor miſs her baniſhed thouſands on the plain.
" Feed on, my ſheep, for though depriv'd of me,
" My cruel foes ſhall your protectors be,
" For their own ſakes, ſhall pen your ſtraggling flocks,
" And ſave your lambkins from the rav'ning fox.
" Feed on, my goats, another now ſhall drain
" Your ſtreams that heal diſeaſe and ſoften pain;
" No ſtreams, alas! can ever, ever flow,
" To heal your maſter's heart, or ſoothe his woe.
" Feed on, my flocks, ye harmleſs people, feed,
" The worſt that ye can ſuffer is to bleed.
" O! that the murderer's ſteel were all my fear!
" How fondly would I ſtay to periſh here-
" But, hark! My ſons loud call me from the vale,
" And, lo! the veſſel ſpreads the ſwelling ſail.
" Farewel! Farewel!"-A while his hands he wrung,
And o'er his cook in ſpeechleſs ſorrow hung,
Then caſting many a ling'ring look behind,
Down the ſteep mountain's brow began to wind.