Small bliss is theirs whom Fate's too heavy hand Confines through life to some small square of land; More wretched they whom heaven inspires to roam, Yet languish out their lives and die at home. Heaven gave to man this wide extended round, 5 No climes confine him and no oceans bound; Heaven gave him forest, mountain, vale, and plain, And bade him vanquish, if he could, the main; But sordid cares our short-lived race confine, Some toil at trades, some labour in the mine, 10 The miser hoards, and guards his shining store, The sun still rises where he rose before-- No happier scenes his earth-born fancy fill Than one dark valley, or one well-known hill. To other shores his mind, untaught to stray, 15 Dull and inactive, slumbers life away. But by the aid of yonder glimmering beam The pole star, faithful to my vagrant dream, Wild regent of my heart! in dreams convey Where the herded Britons their bold ranks display; 20 So late the pride of England's fertile soil, (Her grandeur heightened by successive toil) See how they sicken in these hostile climes, Themes for the stage, and subjects for our rhimes. What modern poet have the muses led 25 To draw the curtain that conceals the dead? What bolder bard to Boston shall repair, To view the peevish, half-starved spectres there? O thou wronged country! why sustain these ills? Why rest thy navies on their native hills? 30 See, endless forests shade the uncultured plain, Descend, ye forests, and command the main: A leafy verdure shades the mighty mast, And the tall oak bends idly to the blast, Earth's entrails teem with stores for your defence, 35 Descend and drag the stores of war from thence: Your fertile soil the flowing sail supplies, And Europe's arts in every village rise-- No want is yours--Disdain unmanly fear, And swear no tyrant shall reign master here; 40 Know your own strength--in rocky desarts bred, Shall the fierce tiger by the dog be led, And bear all insults from that snarling race Whose courage lies in impudence of face?-- No--rather bid the wood's wild native turn, 45 And from his side the unfaithful guardian spurn. Now, pleased I wander to the dome of state Where Gage resides, our western potentate-- Chief of ten thousand, all a race of slaves,[86] Sent to be shrouded in untimely graves;[87] 50 Sent by our angry Jove, sent sword in hand To murder, burn, and ravage through the land.-- You dream of conquest--tell me how or whence-- Act like a man, and get you gone from hence; A madman sent you to this hostile shore 55 To vanquish nations, that shall spill your gore.-- Go, fiends, and in a social league combined