| |
| NILE’S 1 beauteous waves, and Tiber’s swelling tide | |
| Have been recorded by the hand of Fame, | |
| And various floods, which through earth’s channels glide, | |
| From some enraptured bard have gain’d a name; | |
| E’en Thames and Wye have been the poet’s theme, | 5 |
| And to their charms hath many an harp been strung, | |
| Whilst, Oh! hoar genius of old Hudson’s stream, | |
| Thy mighty river never hath been sung: | |
| Say, shall a female string her trembling lyre, | |
| And to thy praise devote the adventurous song? | 10 |
| Fired with the theme, her genius shall aspire, | |
| And the notes sweeten as they float along. | |
| Where rough Ontario’s restless waters roar, | |
| And hoarsely rave around the rocky shore; | |
| Where their abode tremendous north-winds make, | 15 |
| And reign the tyrants of the surging lake; | |
| There, as the shell-crown’d genii of its caves | |
| Toward proud Lawrence urged their noisy waves, | |
| A form majestic from the flood arose; | |
| A coral bandage sparkled o’er his brows, | 20 |
| A purple mantle o’er his limbs was spread, | |
| And sportive breezes in his dark locks play’d: | |
| Toward the east shore his anxious eyes he cast. | |
| And from his ruby lips these accents pass’d: | |
| “O favor’d land! indulgent nature yields | 25 |
| Her choicest sweets to deck thy boundless fields; | |
| Where in thy verdant glooms the fleet deer play, | |
| And the hale tenants of the desert stray, | |
| While the tall evergreens that edge the dale | |
| In silent majesty nod to each gale: | 30 |
| Thy riches shall no more remain unknown, | |
| Thy wide campaign do I pronounce my own; | |
| And while the strong arm’d genii of this lake | |
| Their tributary streams to Lawrence take, | |
| Back from its source my current will I turn, | 35 |
| And o’er thy meadows pour my copious urn.” | |
| He said, and, waving high his dripping hand; | |
| Bade his clear waters roll toward the land. | |
| Glad they obey’d, and struggling to the shore, | |
| Dash’d on its broken rocks with thundering roar: | 40 |
| The rocks in vain oppose their furious course; | |
| From each repulse they rise with tenfold force; | |
| And gathering all their angry powers again, | |
| Gushed o’er the banks, and fled across the plain | |
| Soon as the waves had pressed the level mead, | 45 |
| Full many a pearly-footed Naiad fair, | |
| With hasty steps, her limpid fountain led, | |
| To swell the tide, and hail it welcome there: | |
| Their busy hands collect a thousand flowers, | |
| And scatter them along the grassy shores. | 50 |
| There, bending low, the water-lilies bloom, | |
| And the blue crocus shed their moist perfume; | |
| There the tall velvet scarlet lark-spur laves | |
| Her pale green stem in the pellucid waves; | |
| There nods the fragile columbine, so fair, | 55 |
| And the mild dewy wild-rose scents the air; | |
| While round the trunk of some majestic pine | |
| The blushing honeysuckle’s branches twine: | |
| There too Pomona’s richest gifts are found, | |
| Her golden melons press the fruitful ground; | 60 |
| The glossy crimson plums there swell their rinds, | |
| And purple grapes dance to autumnal winds; | |
| While all beneath the mandrake’s fragrant shade | |
| The strawberry’s delicious sweets are laid. * * * * * | |
| Through many a “blooming wild” and woodland green, | 65 |
| The Hudson’s sleeping waters winding stray; | |
| Now ’mongst the hills its silvery waves are seen, | |
| And now through arching willows steal away: | |
| Then bursting on the enamor’d sight once more, | |
| Gladden some happy peasant’s rude retreat; | 70 |
| And passing youthful Troy’s commercial shore, | |
| With the hoarse Mohawk’s roaring surges meet. | |
| Oh, beauteous Mohawk! ’wildered with thy charms, | |
| The chilliest heart sinks into rapturous glows; | |
| While the stern warrior, used to loud alarms, | 75 |
| Starts at the thunderings of thy dread Cohoes. | |
| Now more majestic rolls the ample tide, | |
| Tall waving elms its clovery borders shade, | |
| And many a stately dome, in ancient pride, | |
| And hoary grandeur, there exalts its head. | 80 |
| There trace the marks of culture’s sunburnt hand, | |
| The honeyed buck-wheat’s clustering blossoms view, | |
| Dripping rich odors, mark the beard-grain bland, | |
| The loaded orchard, and the flax field blue. | |
| Albania’s gothic spires now greet the eye; | 85 |
| Time’s hand hath wiped their burnish’d tints away, | |
| And the rich fanes which sparkled to the sky, | |
| ’Reft of their splendors, mourn in cheerless grey. | |
| There many an ancient structure tottering stands; | |
| Round the damp chambers mouldy vapors creep, | 90 |
| And feathery-footed Silence folds her hands, | |
| While the pale genii of the mansion sleep. | |
| Yet thither Trade’s full freighted vessels come; | |
| Thither the shepherds mercantile resort: | |
| There Architecture late hath raised her dome, | 95 |
| And Agriculture’s products fill her port. | |
| The grassy hill, the quivering poplar grove, | |
| The copse of hazle, and the tufted bank, | |
| The long green valley, where the white flocks rove, | |
| The jutting rock, o’erhung with ivy dank; | 100 |
| The tall pines waving on the mountain’s brow, | |
| Whose lofty spires catch day’s last lingering beam; | |
| The bending willow weeping o’er the stream, | |
| The brook’s soft gurglings, and the garden’s glow. * * * * * * | |
| Low sunk between the Alleganian hills, | 105 |
| For many a league the sullen waters glide, | |
| And the deep murmur of the crowded tide, | |
| With pleasing awe the wondering voyager fills. | |
| On the green summit of yon lofty clift | |
| A peaceful runnel gurgles clear and slow, | 110 |
| Then down the craggy steep-side dashing swift, | |
| Tremendous falls in the white surge below. | |
| Here spreads a clovery lawn its verdure far, | |
| Around it mountains vast their forests rear, | |
| And long ere day hath left his burnish’d car, | 115 |
| The dews of night have shed their odors there. | |
| There hangs a louring rock across the deep; | |
| Hoarse roar the waves its broken base around; | |
| Through its dark caverns noisy whirlwinds sweep, | |
| While Horror startles at the fearful sound. | 120 |
| The shivering sails that cut the fluttering breeze, | |
| Glide through these winding rocks with airy sweep: | |
| Beneath the cooling glooms of waving trees, | |
| And sloping pastures speck’d with fleecy sheep. | |
