Of luxury intoxicates; ye routs,
Who, for your crimes, have fled your native land;
And ye voluptuous idle, who in vain
Seek easy habitations, void of care:
The sons of Nature with astonishment
And detestation mark your evil deeds,
And view, no longer aw’d, your nerveless arms,
Unfit to cultivate Ohio’s banks.
See the bold emigrants of Acadie
And Massachuset, happy in those arts