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| WEEHAWKEN!—In thy mountain scenery yet, | |
| All we adore of Nature, in her wild | |
| And frolic hour of infancy, is met; | |
| And never has a summer’s morning smiled | |
| Upon a lovelier scene, than the full eye | 5 |
| Of the enthusiast revels on—when high | |
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| Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs | |
| O’er crags, that proudly tower above the deep, | |
| And knows that sense of danger which sublimes | |
| The breathless moment—when his daring step | 10 |
| Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear | |
| The low dash of the wave with startled ear— | |
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| Like the death-music of his coming doom, | |
| And clings to the green turf with desperate force, | |
| As the heart clings to life; and when resume | 15 |
| The currents in his veins their wonted course, | |
| There lingers a deep feeling—like the moan | |
| Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone. | |
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| In such an hour he turns, and on his view, | |
| Ocean and earth and heaven burst before him; | 20 |
| Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue | |
| Of summer’s sky in beauty bending o’er him— | |
| The city bright below; and far away, | |
| Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay | |
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| Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, | 25 |
| And banners floating in the sunny air; | |
| And white sails o’er the calm blue waters bent, | |
| Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there | |
| In wild reality. When life is old, | |
| And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold | 30 |
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| Its memory of this; nor lives there one | |
| Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood’s days | |
| Of happiness were passed beneath that sun, | |
| That in his manhood’s prime can calmly gaze | |
| Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand, | 35 |
| Nor feel the prouder of his native land. | |
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