But that name shall be restored,
Law and justice wield the sword,
And her GOD be here adored.

By the Gulf of Persia sail,
Where the true-love nightingale
Woos the rose in every vale.

Though Arabia charge the breeze
With the incense of her trees,
On I press through southern seas.

Cape of storms, thy spectre fled,
See, the angel Hope, instead,
Lights from heaven upon thine head;

And where Table-mountain stands, Barbarous hordes from desert sands Bless the sight with lifted hands.

St. Helena's dungeon-keep
Scowls defiance o'er the deep;
There a warrior's relics sleep.

Who he was, and how he fell,
Europe, Asia, Afric tell:

On that theme all time shall dwell.

But henceforth, till nature dies,
These three simple words comprise
All the future: "Here he lies."

Mammon's plague-ships throng the waves: O, 't were mercy to the slaves,

Were the maws of sharks their graves!

Not for all the gems and gold,
Which thy streams and mountains hold,
Or for which thy sons are sold,

Land of negroes! would I dare
In this felon-trade to share,
Or to brand its guilt forbear.

Hercules! thy pillars stand,
Sentinels of sea and land!
Cloud-capt Atlas towers at hand.

Where, when Cato's word was fate,
Fell the Carthaginian state,

And where exiled Marius sate,

Mark the dens of caitiff Moors;

Ha! the pirates seize their oars :
Haste we from the accursed shores!

Egypt's hieroglyphic realm

Other floods than Nile's o'erwhelm ;
Slaves turned despots hold the helm.

Judah's cities are forlorn,

Lebanon and Carmel shorn,

Zion trampled down with scorn.

Greece, thine ancient lamp is spent ;
Thou art thine own monument;
But the sepulchre is rent,

And a wind is on the wing,

At whose breath new heroes spring,
Sages teach, and poets sing.

Italy, thy beauties shroud
In a gorgeous evening cloud;
Thy refulgent head is bowed.

Rome, in ruins lovely still,
On her Capitolian hill,

Bids thee, mourner, weep thy fill.

Yet where Roman genius reigns,
Roman blood must warm the veins;
Look well, tyrants, to your chains!

Splendid realm of old romance,

Spain, thy tower-crowned crest advance, Grasp the shield and couch the lance.

At the fire-flash of thine eye,
Giant bigotry 'would fly,

At thy voice oppression die.

Lusitania, from the dust,

Shake thy locks, thy cause is just;

Strike for freedom, strike and trust.

France, I hurry from thy shore;
Thou art not the France of yore,
Thou art new-born France no more.

Great thou wast; and who like thee?
Then mad-drunk with liberty;
What now?-neither great nor free.

Sweep by Holland like the blast,
One quick glance on Denmark cast,
Sweden, Russia, - all are past.

Elbe nor Weser tempt my stay;
Germany, beware the day

When thy schools again bear sway!

Now to thee, to thee, I fly,
Fairest isle beneath the sky,
To my heart, as in mine eye.

I have seen them, one by one,
Every shore beneath the sun,
And my voyage now is done.

While I bid them all be blest,
Britain is my home, my rest;
Mine own land! I love thee best.

James Montgomery.