Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/68

54 How long, and yet how long, Our leaders will we hail from over seas, Masters and kings from feudal monarchies, And mock their ancient song With echoes weak of foreign melodies? That distant isle mist-wreathed, Mantled in unimaginable green, Too long hath been our mistress and our queen. Our fathers have bequeathed Too deep a love for her, our hearts within. She made the whole world ring With the brave exploits of her children strong, And with the matchless music of her song. Too late, too late we cling To alien legends, and their strains prolong. This fresh young world I see, With heroes, cities, legends of her own; With a new race of men, and overblown By winds from sea to sea, Decked with the majesty of every zone. I see the glittering tops Of snow-peaked mounts, the wid’ning vale’s expanse, Large prairies where free herds of horses prance,