Remote, beneath a sultry star,
Where Mississippi flows afar,
I see you rambling, God knows where.
Sometimes, beneath a cypress bough,
When met in dreams, with spirits low,
I long to tell you what I know.
How matters go, in this our day,
When monarchy renews her sway,
And royalty begins her play.
I thought you wrong to come so far
Till you had seen our western star
Above the mists ascended clear.
I thought you right, to speed your sails
If you were fond of loathsome jails,
And justice with uneven scales.
And so you came and spoke too free
And soon they made you bend the knee,
And lodged you under lock and key.
Discharged at last, you made your peace
With all you had, and left the place
With empty purse and meagre face.—
You sped your way to other climes
And left me here to teaze with rhymes
The worst of men in worst of times.
Where you are gone the soil is free
And freedom sings from every tree,
"Come quit the crowd and live with me!"
Where I must stay, no joys are found;
Excisemen haunt the hateful ground,
And chains are forged for all around.
The scheming men, with brazen throat,
Would set a murdering tribe afloat
To hang you for the lines you wrote.
If you are safe beyond their rage
Thank heaven, and not our ruling sage,
Who shops us up in jail and cage.
Perdition seize that odious race
Who, aiming at distinguish'd place,
Would life and liberty efface;
With iron rod would rule the ball
And, at their shrine, debase us all,
Bid devils rise and angels fall.
Oh wish them ill, and wish them long
To be as usual in the wrong
In scheming for a chain too strong.
So will the happy time arrive
When coming home, if then alive,
You'll see them to the devil drive.