No empty vision of unbounded power—
No dream of wild romance—no thirst for gold,
Lured them from merry England’s hall and bower—
Her Sabbath chime of bells, her hamlet old;
At home religious bigotry controlled
The struggling wing of thought; a gloomy cloud,
Charged with despotic wrath, above them rolled;
And haunts they sought where man might walk unbowed,
And sacred Truth might raise her warning voice aloud.
No waving flag, gay plume or gleaming casque