esert smile, and the barren rock
to sing for joy; by thy sacred protection the poorest peasant lies secure
under the shadow of his defenceless cot, whilst oppression at a distance
gnashes with her teeth, but dares not show her iron rod; and power, like
the raging billows, dashes its bounds with indignation, but dares not
overpass them. But where thou art not, how changed the scene! how
tasteless, how irksome labour! how languid industry! Where are the
beauteous rose, the gaudy tulip, the sweet-scented jessamine? where the
purple grape, the luscious peach, the glowing nectarine? wherefore smile
not the valleys with their beauteous verdure, nor sing for joy with their
golden harvest? All are withered by the scorching sun of lawless power!
Where thou art not, what place so sacred as to be secure? or who can say,
this is my own! This is the language only of the place where thou
delightest to dwell; but, as soon as thou spreadest thy wings to some
more pleasing clime, power walks abroad with haughty strides, and
tramples upon the weak, whilst oppression, with its heavy hand, bows down
the unwilling neck to the yoke. O, my Country! alas, my Country! thou
wast once the chosen seat of liberty; her footsteps appeared in thy
streets, thy palaces, thy public assemblies: she exulted in thee: her
voice, the voice of joy and gladness was heard throughout the land: with
more than a mother's love she held forth her seven-fold shield to protect
thee, the meanest of her sons; whilst justice, supported by law, rode
triumphant by her side with awful majesty, and looked into fear and
trembling every disturber of the public quiet. O, thou whom my soul
loveth, wherefore dost thou sit dejected, and hidest thy face all the day
long? Canst thou ask the reason of my grief? See, see, my generous
hardy sons are become foolish, indolent, effeminate, thoughtless; behold,
how with their own hands they have loaded me with shackles: alas! hast
thou not seen them take the rod from my beloved sister, Justice, and give
it to the sons of blood and rapine? Yet a little while I mourn over lost
and degenerate sons, and then with hasty flight fix my habitation in some
more happy clime.

Though the community of the gipseys at other times give themselves up to
mirth and jollity with perhaps too much licence, yet nothing is reckoned
more infamous and shameful amongst them than to appear intoxicated during
the time of an election, and it very rarely happens