O native isle, fair Freedom's happiest feat!
At thought of thee my bounding pulses beat;
At thought of thee my heart impatient burns,
And all my country on my soul returns.
When shall I see the fields, whose plenteous grain
No pow'r can ravish from th' industrious swain?
When kiss with pious love the sacred earth,
That gave a BURLEIGH, or a RUSSEL birth?
When, in the shade of laws, that long have stood,
Prop'd by their care, or strengthen'd by their blood,
Of fearless independence wisely vain,
The proudest slave of Bourbon's race disdain?