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n Susquehana's side, fair Wyoming !
Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall
And roofless homes a sad remembrance bring
Of what thy gentle people did befall,
Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.
Sweet land ! may I thy lost delights recall,
Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,
The happy shepherd swains had nought to do,
With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown,
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew:
those sunny mountains half-way down Would echo flagelet from some romantic town.
Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes His leave, how might you the flamingo see Disporting like a meteor on the lakes
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:
And ev'ry sound of life was full of glee,
And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime
Heard but in transatlantic story rung,
For here the exile met from ev'ry clime,
Nor far some Andalusian saraband
Would sound to many a native roundelay.
But who is he that yet a dearer land
Green Albyn!! what though he no more survey
Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore,
And distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan
Alas! poor Caledonia's mountaineer,
Had forc'd him from a home he lov'd so dear!
Yet found he here a home, and glad relief,
? The great whirlpool of the Western Hebrides.
And plied the beverage from his own fair sheaf,
And England sent her men, of men the chief,
Here was not mingled in the city's pomp
Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom ;
Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp,
Nor seal'd in blood a fellow creature's doom,
Nor mourn’d the captive in a living tomb.