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 wanderer,
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 worn?
Be hushed, be forgotten! for ne'er shall the hand of minstrel
with melody greet my return.
No, no! let our 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 the 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.