From The Dull Confines Of The Drooping West To See The Day Spring From The Pregnant East, Ravish'D In Spirit, I Come, Nay More, I Fly To Thee, Blest Place Of My Nativity! Thus, Thus With Hallow'D Foot I Touch The Ground, With Thousand Blessings By Thy Fortune Crown'D. O Fruitful Genius! That Bestowest Here An Everlasting Plenty, Year By Year. O Place! O People! Manners! Fram'D To Please All Nations, Customs, Kindreds, Languages! I Am A Free-Born Roman; Suffer Then That I Amongst You Live A Citizen. London My Home Is, Though By Hard Fate Sent Into A Long And Irksome Banishment; Yet Since Call'D Back, Henceforward Let Me Be, O Native Country, Repossess'D By Thee! For, Rather Than I'll To The West Return, I'll Beg Of Thee First Here To Have Mine Urn. Weak I Am Grown, And Must In Short Time Fall; Give Thou My Sacred Relics Burial.