With glory on them from a higher place,
Or cast up by the lashing, wailing tide.—
She bears not, as when laughed on ev’ry side
Cattle, corn, pastures, vines, to make hearts glad,
Earth’s gifts to Man, her glory, and her pride.
A changed scene ours; no longer Nature heaps
The barns with sheaves; well, if the farmer keeps,
After cost of labour and grain he sowed,
A balance from the harvest that he reaps.
His land in ancient days required no toil,