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Yet who can tell what fearful pangs of wo
Those weary-hearted colonists await,
When to its home the parting ship must go,
And leave them in their exile, desolate?
Ah, who can paint the peril and the pain,
The failing harvest and the famish'd train,
The wily foe with ill-dissembled hate,
The sickness of the heart, the wan despair,
Pining for one fresh draught of its dear native air?
Those weary-hearted colonists await,
When to its home the parting ship must go,
And leave them in their exile, desolate?
Ah, who can paint the peril and the pain,
The failing harvest and the famish'd train,
The wily foe with ill-dissembled hate,
The sickness of the heart, the wan despair,
Pining for one fresh draught of its dear native air?
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