Farewell to the scenes that my childhood has known,
The spot recollection reviews as its own;
The land of the yeoman, by industry blessed,
The home of the free, to the exile a rest;
Thou clime of my birth! Though I wander away,
Thought lingers with thee, it never can stray:
For dear to this bosom, New England! The soil
Where Love cheers the cot and Content sweetens toil. Farewell to your waters that peacefully glide,
To the intervales rich and the mountains your pride;
To the marts that the triumphs of enterprise tell,
To the hamlets, where peace and tranquility dwell;
Farewell, native scenery! To me ever dear,
I give to your charms the heart's tribute, a tear;
For sweet to this bosom, New England! The soil
Where Love cheers the cot and Content sweetens toil. Farewell to the homestead, half hid in the glade,
The orchard and elms where in boyhood I strayed;
The meeting-house spire that rose from the vale,
The mill, and the streamlet that watered the dale;
In vision, the wanderer afar to the west,
Will stray o'er the objects that childhood loved best,
For dear to his bosom, New England! The soil
Where Love cheers the cot and Content sweetens toil.