Thus history we see, when it is well taught, becomes a school of morality for all mankind; it condemns vice, throws off the mask from false virtues, lays open popular errors and prejudices, dispels the delusive charms of riches, and all the vain pomp which dazzles the imagination, and shows by a thousand examples that are more availing than all reasonings whatever, that nothing is great and commendable but honor and probity. From the esteem and admiration which the most corrupt cannot refuse to the great and good actions which history lays before them, it confirms the great and important truth, that virtue is man’s real good, and alone can render him truly great and valuable. This virtue we are taught by history to revere, and to discern its beauty and brightness through the veils of poverty, adversity and obscurity, and sometimes even of disgrace and infamy; and on the other hand, it inspires us with contempt and horror of vice, though clothed in purple and surrounded with splendor. _Literary Society, February 11th, 1780_. THE EXILE’S ADIEU TO HIS NATIVE LAND. [Written several years ago.] The hour is come, and I must part, My native land, with thee; The scenes, the ties that hold my heart, Are thine, fair Land of Liberty! {773} But _these_, and all beside I leave, To venture on the ocean wave; Compell’d, alas! compell’d to be An exile from my _home_ and _thee_! The hill, the lawn, the blushing vine, That deck my place of birth, My much lov’d native land, are thine, And sacred is thy earth; For thou contain’st a father’s grave, Who died, thy soil and rights to save— Yet, I am thus compell’d to be An exile from them all and thee. Beside, the ties by nature given, To bind us to our kind— All, _but_ the fadeless _hope_ of heaven, I leave with thee behind: Then while the vessel lingers here, Accept, my native land, _a tear_; Alas! I am compell’d to be An exile from my home and thee. Away! away! how swiftly we Are swept across the brine; _Yon_ far blue spot is all I see, But oh! that spot is thine. A weeping exile bids adieu To friends he never more shall view; Alas! he is compell’d to be A wanderer, fair land, from thee! But _hope_, and recollections bright, With him will always be, And like the brilliant star of night, Dispel his misery. For thinking on thy sons, I’ll deem Myself among them; though a dream, ’Twill consolation sometimes give, To know for _thee_ they _only_ live. Pure as thy native air and sky, Thy daughters, slaves can never nurse; Too noble, they had rather die, Than give or bear the fatal curse. Around thy banner, at the call, Oh, may thy offspring stand or fall; And though to friendless climes I flee, My warmest prayers shall be for thee.