CLIME of the brave! the high heart's home,
Laved by
the wild and stormy sea!
Thy children, in this far-off
land,
Devote to-day their hearts to thee;
Our
thoughts, despite of space and time,
To-day are in our
native clime,
Where passed our sinless years, and where
Our infant heads first bowed in prayer.
Stern land!
we love thy woods and rocks,
Thy rushing streams, thy
winter glooms,
And Memory, like a pilgrim gray,
Kneels
at thy temples and thy tombs:
The thoughts of these,
where'er we dwell,
Come o'er us like a holy spell,
A
star to light our path of tears,
A rainbow on the sky of
years.
Above thy cold and rocky breast
The tempest
sweeps, the night-wind wails,
But Virtue, Peace, and
Love, like birds
Are nestled mid thy hills and vales;
And Glory, o'er each plain and glen,
Walks with thy free
and iron men,
And lights her sacred beacon still
On
Bennington and Bunker Hill. |
