Page:Mexico by Joseph Wharton.djvu/30



Oh, land majestic! Apt for all delight,


 * Sweet womanly languors, and high deeds of a man.


 * Lie prone no more beneath the palsying ban

Of crusted usage! On thy valleys dight

With tropic verdure, thy cold mountains' height,


 * And blissful slopes which temperate breezes fan.


 * Breathes the new air that through the ages ran

Whenever God turned men toward the light.

Does our proud race alone enjoy the sun.


 * Or does the rain make green no fields but ours?

Prophetic eyes but faintly have begun


 * To see the lofty climax of thy powers,

When the full noontide of thy day is won.


 * And gathering night on weary Europe lowers.

JOSEPH WHARTON