Hail! Independence, source of blessings, hail!
Nurse of the towering thought, the gallant deed;
When blest by thee how sweet the simple vale,
How charms with thee the brook, th' enamell'd mead!
And when the lark, the messenger of day,
Proclaims the roseate morn will soon appear;
With thee what melody inspires the lay,
How soft the carol, how distinct, how clear.
With thee how doubly fair by Cynthia's beam,
The starry lamps resplendent in the sky:
How gently flows the chrystal purling stream,
How radiant Phœbus meets the dazzled eye.
With thee how jocund fleets th' ecstatic hour,
How shine the lucid drops which bend the flower;
How gay the sylvan scene, whene'er we rove,
Wandering with thee, and with the maid we love.