And pensive hear the distant cannon roar;
No charming warbler cheers the dreary grove,
And peace, and glad content are now no more.
’Twas to these fields our dauntless fires of yore,
With their bright goddess Liberty retir’d;
They fix’d her standard on the desart shore,
The barb’rous native at their feet expir’d.
Her smiles illumin’d o’er the gloomy plains,
And peace and glory were their valour’s meed:
The virtuous ardour still informs our swains,