Vast in extent, Virginia meets our view, With streams immense, dark groves, and mountains blue; First in provincial rank she long was seen, Built the first town, and first subdued the plain:
This was her praise — but what can years avail, When times succeeding see her efforts fail! On northern fields more vigorous arts display, Where pleasure holds no universal sway;
No herds of slaves parade their sooty band From the rough plough to save the fopling's hand, Where urgent wants the daily pittance ask, Compel to labour, and complete the task.
A race of slaves, throughout their country spread, From different soils extort the owner's bread; Averse to toil, the natives still rely On the sad negro for the year's supply;
He, patient, early quits his poor abode, Toils at the hoe, or totes some ponderous load, Sweats at the axe, or, pensive and forlorn, Sighs for the eve, to parch his stinted corn!
With watchful eye maintains his much-loved fire, Nor even in summer lets its sparks expire — At night returns, his evening toils to share, Lament his rags, or sleep away his care,
Bind up the recent wound, with many a groan; Or thank his gods that Sunday is his own. To these far climes the scheming Scotchman flies, Quits his bleak hills to court Virginian skies;
Removed from oat-meal, sour-crout, debts, and duns, Prudent, he hastes to bask in kinder suns; Marks well the native — views his weaker side, And heaps up wealth from luxury and pride,
Exports the produce of a thousand plains, Nor fears a rival, to divide his gains. Deep in their beds, as distant to their source Here many a river winds its wandering course:
Proud of her bulky freight, through plains and woods Moves the tall ship, majestic, o'er the floods, Where James's strength the ocean brine repels, Or, like a sea, the deep Potowmack swells:
Yet here the sailor views with wondering eye Impoverished fields that near their margins lie, Mercantile towns, where languor holds her reign, And boors inactive, on the exhausted plain.
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