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A Legend of the Delaware
MARCH hath unlocked stern winter’s chain; | |
| Nature is wrapped in misty shrouds, | |
| And ceaselessly the drenching rain | |
| Drips from the gray, sky-mantling clouds; | |
| The deep snows melt, and swelling rills | 5 |
| Pour through each hollow of the hills; | |
| The river from its rest hath risen, | |
| And bounded from its shattered prison; | |
| The huge ice-fragments onward dash, | |
| With grinding roar and splintering crash; | 10 |
| Swift leap the floods upon their way, | |
| Like war-steeds thundering on their path, | |
| With hoofs of waves and manes of spray, | |
| Restrainless in their mighty wrath. | |
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| Wild mountains stretch in towering pride | 15 |
| Along the river’s either side; | |
| Leaving between it and their walls | |
| Narrow and level intervals. | |
| When summer glows, how sweet and bright | |
| The landscape smiles upon the sight! | 20 |
| Here, the bright golden wheat-fields vie | |
| With the rich tawny of the rye; | |
| The buckwheat’s snowy mantles, there, | |
| Shed honeyed fragrance on the air; | |
| In long straight ranks the corn uprears | 25 |
| Its silken plumes and pennoned spears; | |
| The yellow melon underneath | |
| Plump ripens, in its viny wreath; | |
| Here, the piled rows of new-mown grass; | |
| There, the potato-plant’s green mass; | 30 |
| All framed by woods,—each limit shown | |
| By zigzag rail, or wall of stone; | |
| Contrasting, here, within the shade, | |
| The axe a space hath open laid, | |
| Cumbered with trees hurled blended down, | 35 |
| Their verdure changed to withered brown; | |
| There, the soil, ashes-strewed and black, | |
| Shows the red flame’s devouring track; | |
| Slim fire-weeds shooting thick where stood | |
| The leafy monarchs of the wood: | 40 |
| A landscape frequent in the land, | |
| Which Freedom, with her gifts to bless, | |
| Grasping the axe when sheathing brand, | |
| Hewed from the boundless wilderness. | |
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| The rains have ceased: the struggling glare | 45 |
| Of sunset lights the misty air; | |
| The fierce winds sweep the myriad throng | |
| Of broken ragged clouds along; | |
| From the rough saw-mill, where hath rung, | |
| Through all the hours, its grating tongue, | 50 |
| The raftman sallies, as the gray | |
| Of evening tells the flight of day, | |
| And slowly seeks, with loitering stride, | |
| His cabin by the river side. | |
| As twilight darkens into night, | 55 |
| Still dash the waters in their flight, | |
| Still the ice-fragments, thick and fast, | |
| Shoot like the clouds before the blast. | |
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| Beyond,—the sinuous channel wends | |
| Through a deep, narrow gorge, and bends | 60 |
| With curve so sharp, the drifting ice, | |
| Hurled by the flood’s tremendous might, | |
| Piles the opposing precipice, | |
| And every fragment swells the height; | |
| Hour after hour uprears the wall, | 65 |
| Until a barrier huge and tall | |
| Breasts the wild waves that vain upswell | |
| To overwhelm the obstacle: | |
| They bathe the alder on the verge, | |
| The leaning hemlock now they merge, | 70 |
| The stately elm is dwindling low | |
| Within the deep ingulfing flow, | |
| Till, curbed thus in its headlong flight, | |
| With its accumulated might, | |
| The river, turning on its track, | 75 |
| Rolls its broad-spreading volumes back. | |
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| The raftman slumbers; through his dream | |
| Distorted visions wildly stream; | |
| Now in the wood his axe he swings, | |
| And now his saw-mill’s jarring rings; | 80 |
| Now his huge raft is shooting swift | |
| Cochecton’s wild, tumultuous rift, | |
| Now floats it on the ebon lap | |
| Of the grim shadowed Water Gap, | |
| And now ’t is tossing on the swells | 85 |
| Fierce dashing down the slope of Wells. | |
| The rapids crash upon his ear, | |
| The deep sounds roll more loud and near, | |
| They fill his dream,—he starts,—he wakes! | |
| The moonlight through the casement falls, | 90 |
| Ha! the wild sight that on him breaks,— | |
| The floods sweep round his cabin-walls. | |
| Beneath their bounding, thundering shocks | |
| The frail log fabric groans and rocks; | |
| Crash, crash! the ice-bolts round it shiver; | 95 |
| The walls like blast-swept branches quiver; | |
| His wife is clinging to his breast, | |
| The child within his arm is prest; | |
| He staggers through the chilly flood | |
| That numbs his limbs, and checks his blood. | 100 |
| On, on he strives: the waters lave | |
| Higher his form with every wave; | |
| They steep his breast, on each side dash | |
| The splintered ice with thundering crash; | |
| A fragment strikes him; ha! he reels; | 105 |
| That shock in every nerve he feels; | |
| Faster, bold raftman, speed thy way, | |
| The waves roar round thee for their prey; | |
| The cabin totters,—sinks,—the flood | |
| Rolls its mad surges where it stood: | 110 |
| Before thy straining sight, the hill | |
| Sleeps in the moonlight, bright and still. | |
| Falter not, falter not, struggle on, | |
| That goal of safety may be won; | |
| Heavily droops thy wife with fear, | 115 |
| Thy boy’s shrill shriekings fill thine ear; | |
| Urge, urge thy strength to where outfling | |
| Yon cedar-branches for thy cling. | |
| Joy, raftman, joy! thy need is past, | |
| The wished-for goal is won at last. | 120 |
| Joy, raftman, joy! thy quick foot now | |
| Is resting on the upland’s brow. | |
| Praise to high Heaven! each knee is bent, | |
| And every heart in prayer of grateful love is blent. | |
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