Know'st thou the land where the nankin and tea-chest, With cassia and rhubarb and camphor, abound? Where oft in the Hongs, by the coolies' foul feet pressed, They pack their Boheas in a way to astound? Know'st thou the land where in vain you endeavour To sell your fair longcloths or barter your yarn? Where you fidget and fret, be you never so clever, And find all your profits are going 'astarn'? Know'st thou the land where the drug in its glory, With cotton and betel-nut, govern the day? Where Patna or Malwa's the theme of each story, The life of each anecdote, solemn or gay? Know'st thou the land where the fair, unprotected By the lords of their destinies, wither alone? Where woman's a slave, by her tyrants neglected, And the only bright jewel they sigh not to own? Where lips which were formed to breathe of devotion To affectionate spouses or lovers provoke; Instead of confessing their tender emotion, Give forth all their sensitive feelings in _smoke_? 'Tis the land we now live in--the land that would shame The world by its valour, invention, and worth; Where the page of her history glows with the name Of her sage,[60] and her warrior,[61] the pride of the earth; Where tea is the potion great deeds to inspire, And emperors deign (and if _they_, who will not?) To watch the decoction, themselves, on the fire, And write prosy odes to the 'pride of the pot.' Tho' fairest Hwâ-Te[62] are thy gardens of flowers, And sweet every blossom that flings to the breeze Its perfume, decks with its tints thy gay bowers, Or clings on its vine to thy moss-covered trees; Yet fairer the lands we have all left behind us, And gayer the flowers and purer the air. Do we need in our exile this rhyme to remind us Of the hearts that are glowing with love for us there? Farewell then to tea-chests; the loosened sail flying Expands to the breeze and chides our delay; Now past is the parting, the 'chin-chin,' the sighing Of all the poor 'devils'[63] who _can't_ get away!