Which nurse a race that have not bow'd
Their knee to aught but God.
And thou hast gems, ay, living pearls,
And flowers of Eden hue;
Thy loveliest are thy bright-eyed girls,
Of fairy forms and elfin curls,
And smiles like Hermon's dew.
They've hearts, like those they're born to wed,
Too proud to nurse a slave.
They'd scorn to share a monarch's bed,