Until yon heap, on which the moonbeams play,
O'erlooks a hemisphere that owns my sway.
There boundless tracts of evershining snow,
There—flowery isles that in the tropics glow—
There sea-like pampas, waving to the main,
There—thousand cities dotting o'er the plain—
There—noble James—there Hudson's fairy tide—
There—Susquehanna—e'er with Song allied—
Here—broad Potomac, too,—shall here arise
The hum of wide industry to the skies.