Seemingly over the hilltops,
Possibly under the hills,
A tireless wing that never drops,
And a song that never stills.
Epics heard on the stars’ lips?
Lyrics read in the dew?—
To sing the song at our finger-tips,
And live the world anew!
Cavaliers of the Cortés kind,
Bold and free and strong,—
And, oh, for a fine and muscular mind
To sing a New-World’s song!
Sailing seas of the silver morn,
Blown of its balm and spice,
To put the Old-World art to scorn
At the price of any price!
Danger, death, but the hope high!
God’s, though the purpose fail!—
Into the deeds of a vaster sky
Sailing a dauntless sail.