Classic Poem

My Country! when I think of all I've lost,
In leaving thee to seek a foreign home,
I find more cause the farther that I roam
To mourn the hour I left thy favoured coast;
For each high privilege which is the boast
And birth-right of thy sons, by patriots gained,
Dishonoured dies where Right and Truth are chained,
And caitiffs rule — by sordid lusts engrossed.
I may , perhaps (each generous purpose crossed,)
Forget the higher aims for which I've strained,
Calmly resign the hopes I prized the most,
And learn cold cautious I have long disdained;
But my heart must be calmer — colder yet —
Ere thee, my Native Land! I can forget.