| |
| WILD cataract of woods! how bright | |
| Thy sheet of liquid silver gleams, | |
| Through the green cedars, on my sight, | |
| Like a tall angel’s spear in dreams. | |
| And see the snowy wreath of spray, | 5 |
| Meet for a spotless virgin’s shroud, | |
| Curl up the clear blue vault away | |
| To form the future tempest-cloud. | |
| |
| Through mountain shores, with red and gold | |
| Leaves, at this autumn hour, array’d, | 10 |
| Winds the swift river, dark and bold, | |
| O’er rocks in many a white cascade. | |
| Till sweeping past, ’mid froth and surge, | |
| The alder islets strown around, | |
| To where the willows kiss thy verge, | 15 |
| Thou dashest off at one wild bound! | |
| |
| Here, as we gaze—I and my friend, | |
| Two youths with roses on our cheeks, | |
| ’T is sweet, but awful, thus to bend | |
| Over the wonder, as it speaks | 20 |
| Like a young earthquake, and to feel | |
| A nameless grandeur swell the soul | |
| With joy that makes the senses reel, | |
| Half-wishing in the flood to roll! | |
| |
| Yes, thou art fair, and fain would I, | 25 |
| Were mine no love, no kindred true, | |
| Alone here live, alone here die, | |
| Were I but worthy too for you, | |
| For oh! were mortals half so fair | |
| And beautiful as their abodes, | 30 |
| Woman a cherub’s face would wear, | |
| And man—the majesty of gods. | |
| |
| Each morning sun a rainbow builds | |
| Of pink, across thy diamond foam, | |
| That every tossing billow gilds | 35 |
| With pearls, to deck its ocean home. | |
| Too soon it fades, unseen by all, | |
| Save the rude woodman of the hill, | |
| Or, when for water to the fall, | |
| Trips the glad damsel of the mill. | 40 |
| |
| Methinks, at winter’s dazzling night, | |
| Thine were a lovelier scene than now, | |
| For then the very air is white | |
| With the pure stars and purer snow. | |
| And trees, like crystal chandeliers, | 45 |
| In nature’s blue cathedral arch, | |
| Light by the moon their gems of tears, | |
| Where, like a queen bride, thou dost march. | |
| |
| And, oft, with a peculiar awe, | |
| Thou com’st the moss-green rocks to lash: | 50 |
| When the soft vernal breezes thaw | |
| The long chain’d river, at one crash | |
| Of thunder, it breaks up and roars, | |
| Till echoing caverns wake from sleep, | |
| As at a mammoth’s voice,—and pours | 55 |
| An ice-piled deluge down thy steep. | |
| |
| Fall of the forest! on a wild | |
| Romantic pilgrimage I come | |
| To see thy face, for, from a child, | |
| My footsteps ever loved to roam | 60 |
| Places untrod—yet, why hast thou, | |
| In sylvan beauty, roll’d so long, | |
| And not a poet’s tongue, ere now, | |
| Has told his lyre thy praise in song. | |
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