Hail, distant mountain! rearing dim
O'er my loved land, thy lofty head,
How welcome is thy sight to him
So long by chart and compass led;
Speck though thou art, and wrapped in haze,
Right pleasant 'tis on thee to gaze.
I've masked the lordly Teneriffe
Rise with rough forehead from the sea,
Gay songsters warbling round the cliff,
Rich strains of dulcet melody;
Yet rather would my listening ear
The wild birds of my country hear.
I've sailed where Chimborazo towers
Amid old Andes' giant chain,
And where the bright Brazilian flowers
Pour living fragrance o'er the plain;
But sweeter is the clustering vine
That doth my home's lov'd porch entwine.
I've roamed where Himmaleh aspires
With snowy crest o'er Indian vales,
And where perfumed from spicy groves
The freighted vessel fills her sails;
But dearer far, yon mountain hoar,
Blest herald of my native shore.