Brave maiden-love! bright sister-faith!
Of this Columbian land, Why should fair youth, as tidal wreck,
Drift up on either strand? Ye mothers! when your sons set sail
On life's tempestuous seas, Why pray ye Heaven's propitious calm
To quell each rising breeze?

If haste for fame, or wealth of lore,
Or thirst for worldly pelf Be set above that priceless boon,
The power to conquer self. To guard that no insidious foe
The citadel shall win; To note, as quick-eared sentinel,
The first approach of sin.

The surges tossed in seething foam
Upon that rock-bound shore; Yet the brave men of New England
Down to the leeward bore. The Frenchman's warning gun booms forth,
The heavy seas resound; What reck they! with determined mien
They tread the solid ground.

Mere raw recruits and all untrained
In stratagem of war, Not Gallia's veterans, skilled in arms,
Their landing place might bar. Through hardships dire and manifold
They upward, onward press; On, till the blossomings of hope
Are fruited with success.

And all through proud New England,
And far across the wave, The name of Massachusetts
And of her soldier brave Is linked with joy and feasting;
While Britain's fair renown Gleams fairer for the added gem,
Which decks her ancient crown.

More bright the clear, translucent sky,
More dense the shadows fall; More glorious the spirits glow,
More black the dismal pall; Oft, through celestial sunlight,
Breaks forth dull thunder shower; Oft, over brilliant visionings
Dark disappointments lower.

So, in first flush of triumph,
Crept in an artful foe, Whose craft and daring overcame
Without one open blow. More certain than the Gascon shot
In siege, on field of war; And deadlier than the scalping knife
Of subtle Indian, far.