“This Land of Rainbows spanning glens whose walls,
Rock-built, are hung with rainbow-coloured mists —
Of far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never rests —
Of tuneful Caves and playful Waterfalls —
Of Mountains varying momently their crests —
Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are halls
Where Fancy entertains becoming guests;
While native song the heroic Past recals.”
Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught,
The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide
Her trophies, Fancy crouch; the course of pride
Has been diverted, other lessons taught,
That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head
Where the all-conquering Roman feared to tread.