ALBANIA;
A POEM.
O loved Albania! hardy nurse of men!
Holding thy silver cross, I worship thee,
On this thy old and solemn festival,
Early, ere yet the wakeful cock has crowed.
Hear! goddess, hear! that on the beryl flood,
Enthroned of old, amid the waters sound,
Reign'st far and wide, o'er many a sea-girt spot,
Oh smile! whether on high Dunedin, thou
Guardest the steep and iron bolted rock,
Where trusted lie the monarchy's last gems, 10
The sceptre, sword, and crown, that graced the brows,
Since father Fergus, of an hundred kings:
Or if, along the well contested ground,
The warlike Border-land, thou marchest proud;
Holding thy silver cross, I worship thee,
On this thy old and solemn festival,
Early, ere yet the wakeful cock has crowed.
Hear! goddess, hear! that on the beryl flood,
Enthroned of old, amid the waters sound,
Reign'st far and wide, o'er many a sea-girt spot,
Oh smile! whether on high Dunedin, thou
Guardest the steep and iron bolted rock,
Where trusted lie the monarchy's last gems, 10
The sceptre, sword, and crown, that graced the brows,
Since father Fergus, of an hundred kings:
Or if, along the well contested ground,
The warlike Border-land, thou marchest proud;
