For things we never mention,
⁠For Art misunderstood—
For excellent intention
⁠That did not turn to good;
From ancient tales' renewing,
⁠From clouds we would not clear—
Beyond the Law's pursuing
⁠We fled, and settled here.

We took no tearful leaving,
⁠We bade no long good-byes;
Men talked of crime and thieving,
⁠Men wrote of fraud and lies.
To save our injured feelings
⁠'Twas time and time to go—
Behind was dock and Dartmoor,
⁠Ahead lay Callao!