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FROM the dull confines of the drooping West To see the day spring from the pregnant East, Ravish'd in spirit I come, nay, more, I fly To thee, bless'd place of my nativity ! Thus, thus with hallowed foot I touch the ground, With thousand blessings by thy fortune crown'd. O fruitful Genius ! that bestowest here An everlasting plenty, year by year. O place ! O people ! Manners ! fram'd to please All nations, customs, kindreds, languages ! I am a free-born Roman ; suffer, then, That I amongst you live a citizen. London my home is : though by hard fate sent Into a long and irksome banishment ; Yet since call'd back ; henceforward let me be, O native country, repossess'd by thee ! For, rather than I'll to the West return, I'll beg of thee first here to have mine urn. Weak I am grown, and must in short time fall ; Give thou my sacred relics burial.
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