And I could see by her bright eyes as well.
We didn't need the aid of spheres above,
For that's our proper sphere—a making love.
Midst whispering pines we pledged our love aloud,
And thus our plight began beneath a cloud.
[THE COLUMBIAD]
America! Our home, our native land!
The joy of it—the rapture! when we say—
We who are freemen and can understand—