MY NATIVE LAND.
I love my land, but with a love so strange
That reason over it no victory knows.
Her glory, bought in bloodshed’s stern exchange,
Her ever-confident and proud repose,
The sacred annals of her ancient might,
Arouse in me no fancies of delight.
Nay! but I love (the why I cannot say)
Her cold steppes in their silent majesty,
Her waving woodlands in their boundless play,