The harmless cultivator of the soil,
Returning from the task of pleasing toil,
Torn from the shelter of his kindred grounds,
Is dragg'd to bonds, to stripes, and smarting wounds.
Meanwhile his anxious wife, with eager eye,
Looks on the homeward path, and evening sky.
Children, bereft, the nightly boon require,
And anxious call their slow-returning sire.
Ne'er shall returning sire his children bless—
Ne'er shall the weeping wife her husband press—