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,