| |
| LAND of the West!—green forest-land! | |
| Clime of the fair, and the immense! | |
| Favorite of Nature’s liberal hand, | |
| And child of her munificence! | |
| Filled with a rapture warm, intense, | 5 |
| High on a cloud-girt hill I stand; | |
| And with clear vision gazing thence, | |
| Thy glories round me far expand: | |
| Rivers, whose likeness earth has not, | |
| And lakes, that elsewhere seas would be, | 10 |
| Whose shores the countless wild herds dot, | |
| Fleet as the winds, and all as free; | |
| Mountains that pierce the bending sky; | |
| And with the storm-cloud warfare wage, | |
| Shooting their glittering peaks on high, | 15 |
| To mock the fierce red lightning’s rage; | |
| Arcadian vales, with vine-hung bowers, | |
| And grassy nooks, ’neath beechen shade, | |
| Where dance the never-resting Hours, | |
| To music of the bright cascade; | 20 |
| Skies softly beautiful, and blue | |
| As Italy’s, with stars as bright; | |
| Flowers rich as morning’s sunrise hue, | |
| And gorgeous as the gemmed midnight. | |
| Land of the West! green forest-land! | 25 |
| Thus hath Creation’s bounteous hand | |
| Upon thine ample bosom flung | |
| Charms such as were her gift when the gray world was young! | |
| |
| Land of the West!—where naught is old | |
| Or fading, but tradition hoary,— | 30 |
| Thy yet unwritten annals hold | |
| Of many a daring deed the story! | |
| Man’s might of arm hath here been tried, | |
| And woman’s glorious strength of soul,— | |
| When war’s fierce shout rang far and wide, | 35 |
| When vengeful foes at midnight stole | |
| On slumbering innocence, and gave | |
| Nor onset-shout nor warning word, | |
| Nor nature’s strong appealings heard | |
| From woman’s lips, to “spare and save | 40 |
| Her unsuspecting little one, | |
| Her only child—her son! her son!” | |
| Unheard the supplicating tone, | |
| Which ends in now a shriek, and now a deep death-groan! | |
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| Land of the West!—green forest-land! | 45 |
| Thine early day for deeds is famed | |
| Which in historic page shall stand | |
| Till bravery is no longer named. | |
| Thine early day!—it nursed a band | |
| Of men who ne’er their lineage shamed: | 50 |
| The iron-nerved, the bravely good, | |
| Who neither spared nor lavished blood,— | |
| Aye ready, morn, or night, or noon; | |
| Fleet in the race, firm in the field, | |
| Their sinewy arms their only shield,— | 55 |
| Courage to Death alone to yield; | |
| The men of Daniel Boon! | |
| Their dwelling-place the “good green-wood”; | |
| Their favorite haunts the long arcade, | |
| The murmuring and majestic flood, | 60 |
| The deep and solemn shade, | |
| Where to them came the word of God, | |
| When storm and darkness were abroad, | |
| Breathed in the thunder’s voice aloud, | |
| And writ in lightning on the cloud. | 65 |
| And thus they lived: the dead leaves oft, | |
| Heaped by the playful winds, their bed; | |
| Nor wished they couch more warm or soft, | |
| Nor pillow for the head | |
| Other than fitting root or stone, | 70 |
| With the scant wood-moss overgrown. | |
| Heroic band! But they have passed, | |
| As pass the stars at rise of sun, | |
| Melting into the ocean vast | |
| Of Time, and sinking, one by one; | 75 |
| Yet lingering here and there a few, | |
| As if to take a last, long view | |
| Of the domain they won in strife | |
| With foes who battled to the knife. | |
| Peace unto those that sleep beneath us! | 80 |
| All honor to the few that yet do linger with us! | |
| |
| Land of the West!—thine early prime | |
| Fades in the flight of hurrying Time; | |
| Thy noble forests fall, as sweep | |
| Europa’s myriads o’er the deep; | 85 |
| And thy broad plains, with welcome warm, | |
| Receive the onward-pressing swarm: | |
| On mountain-height, in lowly vale, | |
| By quiet lake, or gliding river,— | |
| Wherever sweeps the chainless gale, | 90 |
| Onward sweep they, and forever. | |
| Oh, may they come with hearts that ne’er | |
| Can bend a tyrant’s chain to wear; | |
| With souls that would indignant turn, | |
| And proud oppression’s minions spurn; | 95 |
| With nerves of steel, and words of flame, | |
| To strike and sear the wretch who ’d bring our land to shame! | |
| |
| Land of the West!—beneath the Heaven | |
| There ’s not a fairer, lovelier clime; | |
| Nor one to which was ever given | 100 |
| A destiny more high, sublime. | |
| From Alleghany’s base, to where | |
| Our Western Andes prop the sky,— | |
| The home of Freedom’s hearts is there,— | |
| And o’er it Freedom’s eagles fly. | 105 |
| And here, should e’er Columbia’s land | |
| Be rent with fierce intestine feud, | |
| Shall Freedom’s latest cohorts stand, | |
| Till Freedom’s eagles sink in blood, | |
| And quenched are all the stars that now her banners stud! | 110 |
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