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poet

Philip Freneau

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poem
Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, 
Hid in this silent, dull retreat, 
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, 
Unseen thy little branches greet: 
  No roving foot shall crush thee here, 
  No busy hand provoke a tear. 
  
By Nature's self in white arrayed, 
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, 
And planted here
poem
The great, unequal conflict past, 
   The Briton banish'd from our shore, 
Peace, heav'n-descended, comes at last, 
   And hostile nations rage no more;
      From fields of death the weary swain 
      Returning, seeks his native plain. 

In every vale she smiles serene, 
   Freedom's bright stars more radiant
poem

Libera Nos, Domine.—Deliver us, O Lord, not only from British dependence, but also

From a junto that labour with absolute power, Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour, From the lords of the council, who fight against freedom, Who still follow on where