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| SOFT, silent Wabash! on thy sloping verge | |
| As, fixed in thought, I stay my wandering feet, | |
| And list the gentle rippling of thy surge, | |
| What moving spirits do my fancy greet;— | |
| What flitting phantoms from thy breast emerge, | 5 |
| Forms for the shrouded sepulchre more meet! | |
| |
| In thy dark flowing waters I would see | |
| More than is wont to fix the transient gaze | |
| Of vulgar admiration, though there be | |
| Enough to wake the poet’s sweetest lays | 10 |
| In all thy silent beauty; for to me | |
| Thou hast a voice,—a voice of other days. | |
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| Nor can I look upon thee with a heart | |
| Unmoved by the intrusive thoughts of sadness, | |
| While fancy pictures thee not as thou art, | 15 |
| But what thou hast been, when the tones of gladness | |
| Were heard upon thy borders, ere the smart | |
| Of stern Oppression turned that joy to madness! | |
| |
| How oft upon thy undulating breast | |
| The light pirogue hath skimmed its silent way, | 20 |
| When nature all around had sunk to rest, | |
| And long had faded the last beam of day; | |
| And still it onward leaped the moonlit crest | |
| And dashed delighted through the silver spray. | |
| |
| Urged by the spirit of revenge and hate, | 25 |
| The savage tenant knit his fiery brow, | |
| And fanned the flame he knew not to abate | |
| Save by the unwearied chase and deadly blow, | |
| Toiling with ceaseless energy to sate | |
| His vengeance on some far, devoted foe! | 30 |
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| Perchance secluded in yon green retreat, | |
| Some lordly chieftain, in his pride of power, | |
| Hath lingered oft in rapturous thought to meet | |
| His dark-eyed goddess at the sunset hour, | |
| Where wanton zephyrs dance with flitting feet, | 35 |
| And kiss in gambols rude each blushing flower. | |
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| Here with the green wood for his temple dome, | |
| This fragrant bank his consecrated shrine, | |
| Mayhap the pious votary oft hath come, | |
| On nature’s breast his sorrows to resign; | 40 |
| From day’s dull avocations far to roam | |
| With gazing on such loveliness as thine! | |
| |
| Soft, silent Wabash! thy still waters glide | |
| All heedless of my meditative lay! | |
| But from the tranquil beauty of thy pride | 45 |
| I ’ll glean such moral teachings as I may;— | |
| Howe’er may vary Fortune’s fickle tide, | |
| Like thee in sweet content I ’ll wend my peaceful way. | |
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