The sun descends along the glowing west,
His bright rays quivering o’er Potomac’s breast—­
And still he flashes, with his parting smile,
And gilds the top of yonder mighty pile[C]—­
Which Heroes children bade arise to heaven—­
In this new paradise (though later given.)
He sets! that glorious orb! and now is gone—­
And night’s dark wings are slowly moving on;—­
But see! the moon, full-orbed, ascends the sky,
And walks that dark-blue path so calm on high—­
Pours her soft light—­a sea of silvery beams,
On that proud pile—­as on the sleeping streams;
As if indignant that the Night would hide,
With her black wing, a nation’s central pride—­
That towering dome, beheld from o’er the sea,
To crown the clime of all who now are free. 
As there I wandered, when the day was o’er—­
Near that proud pile—­along the silent shore—­
And, fondly lingering o’er the magic scene,
Marked each blest spot, where Freedom’s feet had been,—­
The Present fled—­the Future rose to light—­
Columbia’s Genius stood revealed to sight. 
Her Phantom form uprose and touched the sky—­
Her mighty realm lay stretched beneath her eye. 
An awful light—­yet gentle—­yet serene—­
Shone from those eyes, and from her god-like mien;
At first, cold fear ran through my shivering frame,
And dread forebodings o’er my spirit came. 
But soon she spoke—­though not in warlike tone,
But mild as zephyr when his breath hath blown. 
A smile of kind, parental love confest
Her glowing son whom now she thus addrest.

“O son! well-pleased, I mark thy patriot fire,
Nor wholly scorn thy yet unpracticed lyre. 
Behold yon structure whose lone, silent height
Meek Luna gilds with her celestial light. 
See how it soars! and leaves the darker plain—­
So high—­that none will soar, as that again—­
Until the Monument that God will rear
On sin’s dark grave—­as Tyranny’s is here. 
  Yes! view that Capitol;—­its lofty dome
O’erlooks the clime thou lovest to call thy home. 
Just, just the joy thou feelest—­it o’er views,
The happiest land that quaffs the sun’s bright hues. 
But think thou not that, this, my chosen land
Has reached its borders—­they shall yet expand—­
Until yon heap, on which the moonbeams play,
O’erlooks a hemisphere that owns my sway. 
There boundless tracts of evershining snow,
There—­flowery isles that in the tropics glow—­
There sea-like pampas, waving to the main,
There—­thousand cities dotting o’er the plain—­
There—­noble James—­there Hudson’s fairy tide—­
There—­Susquehanna—­e’er with Song allied—­
Here—­broad Potomac, too,—­shall here arise
The hum of wide industry to the skies. 
There—­mighty Oregon—­amid the West—­
Rolls wealth uncounted o’er his watery breast. 
There—­mightier Amazon—­the King of Floods,
Sweeps grandly down from nevertraversed woods,