Thy cities and thy country domes arise,
From mountains vast, to ocean's shelly strand,
And bring a pride into our gazing eyes!
How brave thy polished sons! their hearts how free!
How far above the plotting of the mean!
How they contemn all base chicanery,
And proudly move, as men, through every scene!
And when thy daughters, an angelic train,
Roam mid thy flowery walks, how sweet their love!
And when they speak—the sound seems like a strain,