For whom I only could descry
A world of trouble and disdain:
Yet, could I bear to see her die,
Or stretch her feeble hands in vain,
And, weeping, beg of me supply?
No! though the fate thy mother knew
Was shameful! shameful though thy race
Have wander’d all a lawless crew,
Outcasts despised in every place;
Yet as the dark and muddy tide,