|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|James Gates Percival. (17951856)|
| Hail to the land whereon we tread,|
Our fondest boast!
The sepulchres of mighty dead,
The truest hearts that ever bled,
Who sleep on glorys brightest bed,
A fearless host:
No slave is here:our unchained feet,
Walk freely as the waves that beat
| New England.|
| On thy fair bosom, silver lake,|
The wild swan spreads his snowy sail,
And round his breast the ripples break
As down he bears before the gale.
| To Seneca Lake.|
| The water is calm and still below,|
For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
In the motionless fields of upper air.
| The coral Grove.|