Born within the lowly cottage
To a destiny obscure,
Doom'd through youth's exulting spring-time
But to labour and endure--
Yet Despair he elbow'd from him;
Nature breathed with holy joy,
In the hues of morn and evening,
On the eyelids of the boy;
And his country's Genius bound him
Laurels for his sun-burn'd brow,
When inspired and proud she found him,
Like Elisha, at the plough.