THE
EMIGRANT.
"Nos patriae fines, et dulcia linquimus arva,
"Nos patriam fugimus;-"Virgil.
"We leave our country and our native plains."
FAST by the margin of a moſſy rill,
That wandered, gurgling, down a heath-clad hill,
An ancient ſhepherd ſtood, oppreſs'd with woe,
And ey'd the ocean's flood that foam'd below;
Where, gently rocking on the riſing tide,
A ſhip's unwonted form was ſeen to ride.
Unwonted, well I ween; for ne'er before,
Had touch'd one keel, the ſolitary ſhore;
Nor had the ſwain's rude footſteps ever ſtray'd,
Beyond the ſhelter of his native ſhade.
His few remaining hairs were ſilver grey,
And his rough face had ſeen a better day.
Around him, bleating, ſtray'd a ſcanty flock,
And a few goats o'erhung the neighbouring rock.
One faithful dog his ſorrows ſeem'd to ſhare,
And ſtrove, with many a trick to eaſe his care.
While o'er his furrow'd cheeks, the ſalt drops ran,
