Poem No 29

Poem No 29

Oft like a sad imprisoned bird I sigh

To leave this land though mine own land it be;

Its green robed meadas --gay flowers and cloudless sky

Though passing fair have but few charms for me.

For I have dreamed of climes more bright and free

Where virtue dwells and heaven born liberty

Makes even the lowest happy; --where the eye

Doth sicken not to see man bend the knee

To sordid interest: --climes where science thrives

And genius doth recetve her guerdon meet;

Where man in all his truest glory lives

And Nature's face is exquisitely sweet

For those fair climes I have the impatient sigh,

There let me live and there let me die.

(--Kidderpore, 1842)