Classic Poem

Clime of the West! that to the hunter's bow,
And roving hordes of savage men, wert sold,
Their cone-roof'd wigwams pierced the wintry snow,
Their tassel'd corn crept sparsely through the mould,
Their bark canoes thy glorious waters clave,
The chase their glory, and the wild their grave:
Look up! a loftier destiny behold,
For to thy coast the fair-hair'd Saxon steers,
Rich with the spoils of time, the lore of bards and seers.