From “The Southland’s Charms and Freedom’s Magnitude” (56)

                                                      56

Farewell, alas! my native land adored!
         I’ve sung thy praises in a faithful strain; 
But westward life’s imperial tides have poured,
         Eddying in towns, and sweeping on again, 
While braver hearts have in their strength ignored
         The old South limitations which remain. 
And I must leave the land which gave me birth, 
Or pine, an alien, on my native hearth.