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390 O the cotton plant! the growing fields of rice, sugar,
 * hemp!

The cactus, guarded with thorns—the laurel-tree,
 * with large white flowers.

The range afar—the richness and barrenness—the
 * old woods charged with mistletoe and trailing
 * moss.

The piney odor and the gloom—the awful natural
 * stillness, (Here in these dense swamps the free-booter
 * carries his gun, and the fugitive slave has
 * his concealed hut;)

O the strange fascination of these half-known, half-impassable
 * swamps, infested by reptiles, resounding
 * with the bellow of the alligator, the sad noises
 * of the night-owl and the wild-cat, and the whirr
 * of the rattlesnake;

The mocking-bird, the American mimic, singing all
 * the forenoon—singing through the moon-lit
 * night.

The humming-bird, the wild-turkey, the raccoon, the
 * opossum;

A Tennessee corn-field—the tall, graceful, long-leaved
 * corn—slender, flapping, bright green, with tassels
 * —with beautiful ears, each well-sheathed in
 * its husk.

An Arkansas prairie—a sleeping lake, or still bayou; O my heart! O tender and fierce pangs—I can stand
 * them not—I will depart;

O to be a Virginian, where I grew up! O to be a
 * Carolinian!

O longings irrepressible! O I will go back to old Tennessee,
 * and never wander more!