[311] "We may starve and be damn'd."—Ed. 1786.
[312] See note to poem "On Gen. Robertson's Proclamation," Vol. II, p. 162.
THE AMERICAN SIBERIA[313]
When Jove from darkness smote the sun,
And Nature earth from chaos won,
One part she left a barren waste
By stormy seas and fogs embraced.
Jove saw her vile neglect, and cried,
"What madness did your fancy guide—
Why have you left so large a space
With winter brooding o'er its face?
No trees of stately growth ascend,
Eternal fogs their wings expand—
My favorite—man—I placed not there,
But spirits of a darker sphere.
If Nature's self neglects her trade
What strange confusion will be made:
Such climes as these I doomed to fall
On Saturn's cold unsocial ball:
But such a blemish, here, to see—
How can it else but anger me?
Where chilling winds forever freeze,
What fool will fix on lands like these?"
Nature, abashed, thus made reply:
"When earth I formed, I don't deny,
Some parts I portioned out for pain,
Hard storms, dull skies, and—little gain.