Exiles from home, your people fly,
In adverse fortune's hardest school;
With swelling breast and flashing eye--
They scorn the tyrant's rule!

Away, from all their joys away,
The sports that active youth engage;
The scenes where childhood loves to play,
The resting-place of age.

Away, from fertile field and farm;
The oak-fringed island-homes that seem
To sit like swans, with matchless charm,
On sea-born sound and stream.

Away, from palm-environed coast,
The beach that ocean beats in vain;
The Royal Port, your pride and boast,
The loud-resounding main.

Away, from orange groves that glow
With golden fruit or snowy flowers,
Roses that never cease to blow,
Myrtle and jasmine bowers.

From these afar, the hoary bead
Of feeble age, the timid maid,
Mothers and nurslings, all have fled,
Of ruthless foes afraid.