I.
Columbia, child of Britain,- noblest child!
I praise the growing lustre of thy worth,
And fain would see thy great heart reconciled
To love the mother of so blest a birth:
For we are one, Columbia! still the same
In lineage, language, laws, and ancient fame,
The natural nobility of earth:
Yes, we are one; the glorious days of yore
When dear old England earn'd her storied name,
Are thine as well as ours for evermore;
And thou hast rights in Milton, ev'n as we,
Thou too canst claim 'sweet Shakspeare's wood-notes wild,'-
And chiefest, brother, we are both made free
Of one Religion, pure and undefiled!

II.
I blame thee not, as other some have blamed,-
The highborn heir had grown to man's estate;
I mock thee not as some who should be shamed,
Nor ferret out thy faults with envious hate;
Far otherwise, by generous love inflamed,
Patriot I praise my country's foreign Son,
Rejoicing in the blaze of good and great
That diadems thy head! - go on, go on,
Young Hercules, thus travelling in might,
Boy-Plato, filling all the West with light,
Thou new Themistocles for enterprise
Go on and prosper, Acolyte of Fate!
And, precious child, dear Ephraim, turn those eyes,-
For thee thy Mother's yearning heart doth wait.

III.
Let aged Britain claim the classic Past,
A shining track of bright and mighty deeds,
For thee I prophecy the Future vast
Whereof the Present sows its giant seeds:
Corruption and decay come thick and fast
O'er poor old England; yet a few dark years,
And we must die as nations died of yore!
But, in the millions of thy teeming shore-
Thy patriots, sages, warriors, saints, and seers-
We live again, Columbia! yea, once more
Unto a thousand generations live,
The mother in the child; to all the West
Through Thee shall We earth's choicest blessings give,
Ev'n as our Orient world in Us is blest.

IV.
Thou noble scion of an ancient root,
Born of the forest-king! spread forth, spread forth,-
High to the stars thy tender leaflets shoot,
Deep dig thy fibres round the ribs of earth:
From sea to sea, from South to icy North,
It must ere long be thine, through good or ill,
To stretch thy sinewy boughs : Go,- wondrous child!
The glories of thy destiny fulfil ;-
Remember then thy mother in her age,
Shelter her in the tempest, warring wild,
Stand thou with us when all the nations rage
So furiously together! - we are one:
And, through all time, the calm historic page
Shall tell of Britain blest in thee her son!