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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

James Gates Perival 1795-1856 John Bartlett

    Hail to the land whereon we tread,
    Our fondest boast!
The sepulchres of mighty dead,
The truest hearts that ever bled,
Who sleep on glory’s brightest bed,
    A fearless host:
No slave is here:—our unchained feet,
Walk freely as the waves that beat
Our coast.
          New England.
    On thy fair bosom, silver lake,
  The wild swan spreads his snowy sail,
And round his breast the ripples break
  As down he bears before the gale.
          To Seneca Lake.
    The water is calm and still below,
  For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
  In the motionless fields of upper air.
          The coral Grove.