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Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day
    On the hills of my country in loveliness sleep?
Too fair is the sight for a wand'rer, whose way
    Lies far o'er the measureless worlds of the deep!
Fall, shadows of twilight! and veil the green shore,
That the heart of the mighty may waver no more!

Why rise on my thoughts, ye free songs of the land
    Where the harp's lofty soul on each wild wind is borne?
Be hush'd, be forgotten! for ne'er shall the hand
    Of minstrel with melody greet my return.
—No! no!—let your echoes still float on the breeze,
And my heart shall be strong for the conquest of seas!

'Tis not for the land of my sires to give birth
    Unto bosoms that shrink when their trial is nigh;
Away! we will bear over ocean and earth
    A name and a spirit that never shall die.
My course to the winds, to the stars, I resign;
But my soul's quenchless fire, O my country! is thine.