| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
350 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
||
|
|
||
|
Alas! and is it needful then, that from this ancient soil,
Where wealth and honor crowned so long the hardy yeoman's toil,
The goodliest of its offspring thus should bid the canvas swell,
And to the parent earth in troops wave their last farewell?
I am answered from the swarming ports, the ever-streaming tide
That pours on board a thousand ships my country's hope and pride : —
I'm answered by the fruitless toil of many a neighbor's hand,
And the gladsome shouts of prosperous men in many a distant land.
Stay, countrymen ! e'en yet there's time—we'll settle all your score —
We cannot spare such honored men—'twould grieve our hearts too sore j—
Things will go smooth—why quit the scene a thousand things made dear,
That wealth may deck ye in the spoils torn from affection here?
Torn is the last embrace apart—the vessel quits the shore —
They're waving hands from off the deck, we hear their voice no more:—
God bless ye, friends ! I honor ye, adventurous, noble band !
Farewell! I would not call ye now back to this wretched land ! |
||
|
|
||