Verse > Anthologies > William McCarty, ed. > The American National Song Book
William McCarty, comp.  The American National Song Book.  1842.
All Hail! to the Country
By a Lady

Tune—“Anacreon in Heaven”

ALL hail to the country, the fairest on earth,
  Where dwells Independence, of Liberty born:
That nymph who, when chaos first burst into birth,
  Chased clouds from the night, and gave brightness to morn;
“She led the wild hordes in her flower-woven bands,”        5
They follow’d her steps, and obey’d her commands,
Till the tyrant endeavour’d her will to restrain,
When, disdaining their fetters, she broke the vile chain.
Escaped from their hands, she a wanderer became:
  She bounded o’er mountains, she shelter’d in caves;        10
Whilst the despots of Europe forbade e’en her name,
  And her friends were consigned to dungeons or graves.
In Helvetia a while many votaries she led,
For her sake they fought, they conquer’d, they bled;
But Ambition’s mad train soon seized on the maid,        15
And again she was fetter’d, insulted, betray’d.
Years roll’d after years, and still none could relate
  (Nay, gagg’d by their tyrants, they scarcely inquired)
Where this darling of nature had met with her fate,
  And no wish for her presence in public transpired.        20
But when William of Orange invaded their coast,
Then Britons proclaim’d it their pride and their boast,
That Liberty came, and, with heavenly smile,
Again roam’d at large in their evergreen isle.
Half a century past, when languid and pale,        25
  Unable to wrestle with factions at court,
She felt—and she mourn’d it—her influence fail,
  Of placemen a jest, and of panders the sport:
She struggled a while—when she turn’d to the west,
And saw freemen determined her rights to contest;        30
The Atlantic she skimm’d, and America sought,
And, link’d to his sword, with our Washington fought.
She suffer’d, but conquer’d; and now the soft hours
  In the cottage of Peace, with Content by her side,
She fondly enjoy’d, in Arcadian bowers,        35
  And nursed Independence, her glory and pride.
And this is his birthday—all hail to the morn!
  Now, in manhood’s full vigour, by millions he’s bless’d;
Aloft let his standard by freemen be borne,
  And his banner still wave o’er sons of the west.        40
When Treachery threatens, when Danger assails,
  Is there one true American heart that will flinch?
No; they’ll pour their dread legions from hills and from vales;
  And dispute, with the sword, every freedom-bless’d inch.
Old age will again feel his life-blood grow warm,        45
And Valour will nerve every boy-stripling’s arm;
Courage, sprung from the heart, our files shall extend,
And amor patriæ with self-love shall blend.
Then hail to the day which proclaim’d to the world
  The triumph of Virtue o’er Tyranny’s power,        50
When the standard of Liberty wide was unfurl’d,
  And domestic enjoyment was Victory’s dower.
Be Union the toast, and by that sacred name,
Let your lives be the pledge for your country’s fame;
Let Party be banish’d, bid Discord take flight,        55
Columbia’s the watch-word—the slogan our right.

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