My native land?—A blighted name, to rise
And part me, with its dark remembrances,
For ever from the sunshine! O’er my soul
Bright shadowings of a nobler destiny
Float in dim beauty through the gloom; but here
On earth, my hopes are closed.
Pro. Thy hopes are closed!
And what were they to mine?—Thou wilt not fly!
Why, let all traitors flock to thee, and learn
How proudly guilt can talk! Let fathers rear