WHEN will my wand’rings end, O gracious Heaven?

When shall my anguish’d heart sweet solace find?

Am I condemn’d thus ceaseless to be driven:

Like some dark low’ring cloud before the wind,

 

The sport of tempests; veiling now the moon;

Now hurl’d impetuous ’gainst the mountain’s steep;

And now, half-frozen in the wintry noon,

Doom’d o’er the rugged precipice to weep?

 

Who can descry the mazy paths of fate,

That lead poor mortals to their final home?

As well the mariner might calculate

O’er what rude rock the distant wave should foam.

 

Eternal source of life and boundless love!

On thee alone shall all my hopes depend:

Hence o’er the desert will I fearless rove,

Tho’ tygers prowl and fervid suns descend.

 

From the parch’d plain tho’ scantly herbage spring;

Tho’ far, far hence, refreshing streamlets flow;

Tho’ every day fatigue and dangers bring;

And every night-breeze seem the sigh of woe;

 

That breeze more welcome now salutes mine ear,

Than erst th’ insidious pest of flattery’s breath.

Not so the midnight warnings, tyrants hear,

Deep, hollow, dismal, as the groan of DEATH!

 

And know, ye slavish minions of the great!

Ev’n here are blessings I would not resign,

The milk-white bread of YEZDECAST to eat,

With grapes of CASBIN, or SHIRAZIAN wine.*

 

Tho’, lovely maids of YEZED, famed in song

For brightest beauty, your warm wishes crown;

To me, all lonely in these wilds, belong

What far exceed your luxury’s renown.

 

Freedom is mine; and, tho’ thus rudely driven,

Blest resignation to the will of Heaven!