Chapter III

Behold! they come--those sainted forms,
Unshaken through the strife of storms;
Heaven's winter cloud hangs coldly down,
And earth puts on its rudest frown;
But colder, ruder was the hand,
That drove them from their own fair land,
Their own fair land--refinement's chosen seat,
Art's trophied dwelling, learning's green retreat;
By valour guarded, and by victory crowned,
For all, but gentle charity, renowned.
With streaming eye, yet steadfast heart,
Even from that land they dared to part,
And burst each tender tie;
Haunts, where their sunny youth was passed,
Homes, where they fondly hoped at last
In peaceful age to die;
Friends, kindred, comfort, all they spurned--
Their fathers' hallowed graves;
And to a world of darkness turned,
Beyond a world of waves.