Oh, thinking white man, look around,
And, when you have discern'd the cause,
Express yourself with certain sound,
Concerning this poor forest child,
Who left his father's hunting ground.
* * * * *
TO NOVA SCOTIA.
OH brothers, friends, down by the sea,
We can thy voices hear,
And painful is their tone, and free,
Upon each brother's ear.
We hear each voice, pitch'd strong and high,
And, could we see you now,
Our hearts would heave another sigh,
At each beclouded brow.
We hear thy voice, from day to day,
In one long, doleful strain,
Oh tell us why, oh brethren say
Why sounds that voice of pain.
Are we not one, in race and creed,
Rul'd by one gracious queen?
And we have all receiv'd our meed
Of praise and pelf, I ween.
Why vex her now, who's rul'd so long
Upon her virtuous throne?
Why sing her such a doleful song,
And send her such a groan?
And why annoy that whiten'd head,
Our land's adopted son,
Who wisely drew love's slender thread,
And wedded us in one.
And firmer yet he wish'd to bind
Us to our country's weal,
And see, plann'd by his master mind,
One band of glitt'ring steel,