Scarce breaks through the gloom of the cold winter’s night?
’Tis the land of thy sires!—’tis the land of thy youth,
Where first thy young heart glowed with honour and truth;
Where the wild fire of genius first caught thy young soul,
And thy feet and thy fancy roamed free from control!
Ah, why does that fancy still dwell on a clime
Where Love leads to Madness, and Madness to Crime:
Where courage itself is more savage than brave;—
Where man is a despot, and woman a slave?
Though soft are the breezes, and sweet the perfume,