Since man may every region claim, And Nature is, in most, the same, And we a part of her wide plan, Tell me, what makes The Banish'd Man.
The favourite spot, that gave us birth, We fondly call our mother earth; And hence our vain distinctions grow, And man to man becomes a foe.
That friendship to all nations due, And taught by reason to pursue, That love, which should the world combine, To country, why do we confine?
The Grecian sage ( old stories say ) When question'd where his country lay, Inspired by heaven, made no reply, But rais'd his finger to the sky.
No region has, on earth, been known But some, of choice, have made their own:— Your tears are not from Reason's source If choice assumes the path of force.
“Alas! ( you cry ) that is not all: “My former friendships I recall, “My house, my farm, my days, my nights, “Scenes vanish'd now, and past delights.” —
Distance for absence you mistake — Here, days and nights their circuits make: Here, Nature walks her beauteous round, And friendship may — perhaps — be found.
If times grow dark, or wealth retires, Let Reason check your proud desires: Virtue the humblest garb can wear, And loss of wealth is loss of care.
Thus half unwilling, half resign'd, Desponding, why, the generous mind?— Think right,— nor be the hour delayed That flies the sun, to seek the shade.
Though injured, exiled, or alone, Nobly presume the world your own, Convinced that, since the world began, Time, only, makes The Banish'd Man.
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