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(Excerpt)
FROM that lone lake, the sweetest of the chain | |
| That links the mountain to the mighty main, | |
| Fresh from the rock and welling by the tree, | |
| Rushing to meet and dare and breast the sea, | |
| Fair, noble, glorious river! in thy wave | 5 |
| The sunniest slopes and sweetest pastures lave; | |
| The mountain torrent, with its wintry roar, | |
| Springs from its home and leaps upon thy shore; | |
| The promontories love thee, and for this | |
| Turn their rough checks and stay thee for thy kiss. | 10 |
| Stern, at thy source, thy northern guardians stand, | |
| Rude rulers of the solitary land, | |
| Wild dwellers by thy cold sequestered springs, | |
| Of earth the feathers and of air the wings; | |
| Their blasts have rocked thy cradle, and in storm | 15 |
| Covered thy couch and swathed in snow thy form; | |
| Yet, blessed by all the elements that sweep | |
| The clouds above, or the unfathomed deep, | |
| The purest breezes scent thy blooming hills, | |
| The gentlest dews drop on thy eddying rills, | 20 |
| By the mossed bank and by the aged tree | |
| The silver streamlet smoothest glides to thee, | |
| The young oak greets thee at the waters’ edge, | |
| Wet by the wave, though anchored in the ledge. | |
| ’T is there the otter dives, the beaver feeds, | 25 |
| Where pensive osiers dip their willowy weeds, | |
| And there the wild-cat purs amid her brood, | |
| And trains them, in the sylvan solitude, | |
| To watch the squirrel’s leap, or mark the mink | |
| Paddling the water by thy quiet brink, | 30 |
| Or to outgaze the gray owl in the dark, | |
| Or hear the young fox practising to bark. * * * * * | |
| Thou didst not shake, thou didst not shrink, when late | |
| The mountain-top shut down its ponderous gate, | |
| Tumbling its tree-grown ruins to thy side, | 35 |
| An avalanche of acres at a slide. | |
| Nor dost thou stay when winter’s coldest breath | |
| Howls through the woods and sweeps along the heath,— | |
| One mighty sigh relieves thy icy breast, | |
| And wakes thee from the calmness of thy rest. | 40 |
| Down sweeps the torrent ice,—it may not stay | |
| By rock or bridge, in narrow or in bay; | |
| Swift, swifter to the heaving sea it goes, | |
| And leaves thee dimpling in thy sweet repose. | |
| Yet, as the unharmed swallow skims his way, | 45 |
| And lightly drops his pinions in thy spray, | |
| So the swift sail shall seek thy inland seas, | |
| And swell and whiten in thy purer breeze, | |
| New paddles dip thy waters, and strange oars | |
| Feather thy waves and touch thy noble shores. | 50 |
| Thy noble shores! where the tall steeple shines, | |
| At midday, higher than thy mountain pines; | |
| Where the white school-house, with its daily drill | |
| Of sunburnt children, smiles upon the hill; | |
| Where the neat village grows upon the eye, | 55 |
| Decked forth in nature’s sweet simplicity; | |
| Where hard-won competence, the farmer’s wealth, | |
| Gains merit honor, and gives labor health; | |
| Where Goldsmith’s self might send his exiled band | |
| To find a new “Sweet Auburn” in our land. | 60 |
| What art can execute or taste devise, | |
| Decks thy fair course and gladdens in thine eyes, | |
| As broader sweep the bendings of thy stream, | |
| To meet the southern sun’s more constant beam. | |
| Here cities rise, and sea-washed commerce hails | 65 |
| Thy shores and winds, with all her flapping sails, | |
| From tropic isles, or from the torrid main, | |
| Where grows the grape or sprouts the sugar-cane, | |
| Or from the haunts where the striped haddock play, | |
| By each cold northern bank and frozen bay. | 70 |
| Here, safe returned from every stormy sea, | |
| Waves the striped flag, the mantle of the free,— | |
| That starlit flag, by all the breezes curled | |
| Of yon vast deep whose waters grasp the world. * * * * * | |
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