Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.
Salmon River
By John Gardiner Calkins Brainard (1795–1828)’T
That, undisturbed, save by the harmless brawl
Of mimic rapid or slight waterfall,
Pursue their way
By mossy bank, and darkly waving wood,
By rock, that since the deluge fixed has stood,
Showing to sun and moon their crisping flood
By night and day.
Something in its pure wave and sloping bank,
Where the deer sported, and the young fawn drank
With unscared look;
There ’s much in its wild history, that teems
With all that ’s superstitious,—and that seems
To match our fancy and eke out our dreams,
In that small brook.
And blood has dropped there, like the drops of rain;
The corn grows o’er the still graves of the slain,—
And many a quiver,
Filled from the reeds that grew on yonder hill,
Has spent itself in carnage. Now ’t is still,
And whistling ploughboys oft their runlets fill
From Salmon River.
Their spells by moonlight; or beneath the shade
That shrouds sequestered rock, or darkening glade,
Or tangled dell.
Here Philip came, and Miantonimo,
And asked about their fortunes long ago,
As Saul to Endor, that her witch might show
Old Samuel.
His thick tail to the hunters, by the brook
Where they pursued their game, and him mistook
For earthly fox;
Thinking to shoot him like a shaggy bear,
And his soft peltry, stripped and dressed, to wear,
Or lay a trap, and from his quiet lair
Transfer him to a box.
About a little and unnoticed stream,
That few have heard of,—but it is a theme
I chance to love;
And one day I may tune my rye-straw reed,
And whistle to the note of many a deed
Done on this river,—which, if there be need,
I ’ll try to prove.