America to Great Britain

Washington Allston (1779–1843)

ALL hail; thou noble land,

Our Fathers’ native soil!

O, stretch thy mighty hand,

Gigantic grown by toil,

O’er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore!

For thou with magic might

Canst reach to where the light

Of Phœbus travels bright

The world o’er!

The genius of our clime

From his pine-embattled steep

Shall hail the guest sublime;

While the Tritons of the deep

With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim.

Then let the world combine,—

O’er the main our naval line

Like the Milky Way shall shine

Bright in flame!

Though ages long have passed

Since our Fathers left their home,

Their pilot in the blast,

O’er untravelled seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins!

And shall we not proclaim

That blood of honest fame

Which no tyranny can tame

By its chains?

While the language free and bold

Which the Bard of Avon sung,

In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung

When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;

While this, with reverence meet,

Ten thousand echoes greet,

From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation’s soul,

Still cling around our hearts,—

Between let Ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the sun:

Yet still from either beach

The voice of blood shall reach,

More audible than speech,

“We are One.”