The broad, the bright, the glorious West,
Is spread before me now!
Where the gray mists of morning rest
Beneath yon mountain’s brow!
The bound is past—the goal is won—
The region of the setting sun
Is open to my view.
Land of the valiant and the free—
My own Green Mountain land—to thee,
And thine, a long adieu!
I hail thee, Valley of the West,
For what thou yet shalt be!
I hail thee for the hopes that rest
Upon thy destiny
Here—from this mountain height, I see
Thy bright waves floating to the sea,
Thine emerald fields outspread,
And feel that in the book of fame,
Proudly shall thy recorded name
In later days be read.
Yet while I gaze upon thee now,
All glorious as thou art,
A cloud is resting on my brow,
A weight upon my heart.
To me—in all thy youthful pride—
Thou art a land of cares untried,
Of untold hopes and fears.
Thou art—yet not for thee I grieve;
But for the far-off land I leave,
I look on thee with tears.
O! brightly, brightly glow thy skies,
In summer’s sunny hours!
The green earth seems a paradise
Arrayed in summer flowers!
But oh! there is a land afar
Whose skies to me are brighter far,
Along the Atlantic shore!
For eyes beneath their radiant shrine,
In kindlier glances answered mine—
Can these their light restore?
Upon the lofty bound I stand,
That parts the East and West;
Before me—lies a fairy land;
Behind—a home of rest!
Here, hope her wild enchantment flings,
Portrays all bright and lovely things,
My footsteps to allure—
But there, in memory’s light, I see
All that was once most dear to me—
My young heart’s cynosure!
