234 JOHN RUTHERFORD Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, And heard our music, are thy simple friends, Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys Lost nothing by comparison with ours? Rude as thou art (for we return’d thee rude And ignorant, except of outward show) I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart And spiritless, as never to regret Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot, If ever it has wash’d our distant shore. I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, A patriot’s for his country: thou art sad At thought of her forlorn and abject state, From which no power of thine can raise her up.”