John Leyden

“ ALBANIA;
A POEM.
O loved Albania! hardy nurse of men!
Holding thy silver cross, I worship thee,
On this thy old and solemn festival,
Early, ere yet the wakeful cock has crowed.
Hear! goddess, hear! that on the beryl flood,
Enthroned of old, amid the waters sound,
Reign'st far and wide, o'er many a sea-girt spot,
Oh smile! ”

“ Gathers, and throws full fast stone after stone; 110
Blind with revenge, nor mindful of her end,
Though near; for now her neck the hissing ball
Hath pierc'd, from well-aimed musket shot unseen.
In vain, alas! thou homeward hastest back;
Mad to have risked thy life with artful man,
On land, to the strange element, where now
Thou agonising liest a monument
For others not to dare their sphere beyond:
While children, from their flight returning, gaze
And wonder at the shaggy monster's form. ”

“ Nor nauseates lucre's scent, from fishy steam.
Why wilt thou thus, too lofty heroine!
Shrink from the clasping ocean's fond embrace;
For thee he feeds the salmon silver-scal'd,
Which you, into his watery pastures wide,
Each autumn send to graze; though slim, and gaunt, 140
They enter his domains, yet soon restored,
The whitest fat their entrails overwraps.
But they, impatient of their happiness,
Returning, such strong love of native soil
Attracts them to thy silver channelled streams ”