The busy crowd that throngs thy sides,
And on thy dusky bosom glides,
With riches swell thy flowing tides,
And bless the soil were thou dost flow.
Thy valiant sons, in days of old,
Led by their Chieftains, brave and bold,
Fought not for wealth, or shining gold,
But to defend thy happy shores.
So e’en as they of old have bled,
And oft embrac’d a gory bed,