AND lo, The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crowned; Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go; And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart o'erflow.

The waters, bursting from their slimy bed,

Bring health and melody to every vale :

And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head,

Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,

To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.

WITH gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow; If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise ; There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow; Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies, And Freedom fires the soul and sparkles in the eyes.