On lowland plains, the ripened ear.
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong,
Now a wild chorus swells the song;
Oft have I listened, and stood still,
As it came softened up the hill,
And deemed it the lament of men
Who languished for their native glen;
And thought, how sad would be such sound,
On Susquehanna’s swampy ground,
Kentucky’s wood-encumbered brake,