Oliver Goldsmith on Emigration

“Beheld the duteous son, the sire decayed, The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, To traverse climes beyond the Western main.”

“Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail, That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore and darken all the strand.”