Classic Poem

Breezes, fill the swelling canvas!
Billows bear us from the land!
Far away from yonder island,
Yon' low-lying, sea-beat strand.

Nay, don't turn to gaze upon it,
'Tis not worth another look;
Never sigh at parting from it,
'Tis not worth the breath it took.

Who would grieve to leave a country
Choked with smoke and swamped with rain?
'Gainst the fogs which rest upon it
Sun and breezes strive in vain.

Look upon the glorious ocean,
Forward to the glorious West,
Far away from smoke and trouble,
There is pleasure, there is rest.

We will climb the lofty mountains,
Far above the valleys fair,
Up beyond the clouds around them,
Till we stop for want of air.

Then when we can see around us,
Sun above and clouds below,
When we cool our burning foreheads
In the everlasting snow;

Then we'll think of one low island
In the smoke and vapour roll'd
Think of struggling, toil-worn creatures,
And we'll grudge them not their gold.