Than, far from thee, with frolic step to rove
The green savannas and the spicy grove;
Scent the rich balm of India’s perfumed gales,
In citron-woods and aromatic vales:
For oh! fair Liberty, when thou art near,
Elysium blossoms in the desert drear!
Where’er thy smile its magic power bestows,
There arts and taste expand, there fancy glows;
The sacred lyre its wild enchantment gives,
And every chord to swelling transport lives;