Where is the perfect State, Early most blest and late, Perfect and bright? ‘Tis where no palace stands Trembling on shifting sands Morning and night.

‘Tis where the soil is free, Where far as eye may see, Scattered o’er hill and lea, Homesteads abound; Where clean and broad and sweet (Market, square, lane and street, Belted by leagues of wheat), Cities are found.

— ROBERT BUCHANAN, The Perfect State, Poetical Works, Vol. II., p. 289.