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Such were the hopes which once beguil'd my care,
Hopes form'd in dreams, and baſeleſs as the air.
Is this, O dire reverſe, is this the land,
Where nature ſway'd, and peaceful worthies plann'd!
Where injur'd freedom, through the world impell'd
Her hallow'd ſeat, her laſt aſylum held!
Ye glitt'ring towns that crown th' Atlantic deep,
Witneſs the change, and as ye witneſs weep.
Mourn all ye ſtreams, and all ye fields deplore.
Your ſlaughter'd ſons, for your verdure ſtain'd with gore.
Time was, bleſt time, to weeping thouſands dear
When all that poets picture flouriſh'd here.
Then war was not, religion ſmil'd and ſpread,
Arts, manners, learning, rear'd their polisſh'd head;
Commerce, her ſails to every breeze unfurl'd,
Pour'd on their coaſts the treaſures of the world.
Paſt are the halcyon days. The very land
Droops a weak mourner, wither'd and unmann'd.
Brothers againſt brother riſe in vengeful ſtrife,
The parent's weapon drinks the children's life;
Sons, leagu'd with foes, unſheath their impious ſword,
And gore the nurturing breaſt they late ador'd.
How vain my ſearch to find ſome lowly bower,
Far from thoſe ſcenes of death, this rage for power;
Some quiet ſpot, conceal'd from every eye,
In which to pauſe from wo, and calmly die.
No ſuch retreat these boundleſs ſhades embrace,
But man with beaſt divides the bloody chace.
What tho' ſome cottage riſe amid the gloom,
In vain its paſtures ſpring, its orchids bloom:
Far, far away the wretched owners roam,
Exiles like me, the world their only home.
Here, as I trace my melancholy way,
