| |
| FAR 1 up the lengthen’d bay we urge, | |
| To where the triple streams converge | |
| And on its ready head distil | |
| The tribute sent from distant hill— | |
| Now mounting up the sinuous bed | 5 |
| Of Wagouche to its marshy head, | |
| We toil against the foamy leaps— | |
| Or wind where still the current sleeps | |
| ’Mid seas of grain, the boon of heaven | |
| To sterile climes in bounty given. | 10 |
| At last we reach the narrow mound— | |
| The wide diverging waters bound— | |
| Where, almost mingling as they glide | |
| In smooth and counter-current tide, | |
| Two rivers turn in sever’d race, | 15 |
| And flow, with still enlarging space, | |
| Till one rolls down beneath the north | |
| And pours its icy torrent forth, | |
| While—glowing as it hurries on— | |
| The other seeks a southern zone. | 20 |
| Here, as the heaven dissolves in showers, | |
| The boon on either stream it pours, | |
| And the same sunbeams, as they stray, | |
| On both with light impartial play; | |
| But onward as each current hies, | 25 |
| New climes and sunder’d tropics rise, | |
| And, urging, growing, as they run, | |
| Each follows down a varying sun, | |
| Till, o’er her tepid Delta spread, | |
| The Michi-sipi bows her head,— | 30 |
| While Lawrence vainly strives to sweep | |
| His gelid surface to the deep. | |
| Scarce did the low and slender neck | |
| The progress of our passage check; | |
| And ere our bark—which, dripping, bore | 35 |
| The marks of rival waters o’er— | |
| Had lost in air its humid stain, | |
| ’T was launch’d, and floating on again— | |
| ’Mid isles in willow’d beauty dress’d | |
| That deck’d Ouisconsin’s yellow breast. | 40 |
| The stream ran fast, and soon the scene | |
| Changed into frowns its smiles serene. | |
| Nature arose in troubled mood, | |
| And hills and cliffs, of aspect rude, | |
| Hoary with barrenness, save where | 45 |
| The stunted cedar hung in air | |
| Fix’d in the rocks that beetled high, | |
| Darken’d the current rushing by— | |
| Oft choked and broken in its pass | |
| By mighty fragments’ clogging mass, | 50 |
| Sever’d, mayhap, by bolt of heaven, | |
| And down the steep in thunder driven. | |
| Our rapid bark, ere twice the day | |
| Had shone upon its downward way, | |
| Turn’d its light prow, in upward course, | 55 |
| To stem the Michi-sipi’s force— | |
| Where her broad wave rolls on amain, | |
| Sever’d by ‘thousand isles’ in twain, | |
| And giant cliffs, with theatening frown, | |
| Conduct her prison’d current down. | 60 |
| Full many a stream, on either side, | |
| Through the cleft walls sends forth its tide, | |
| Descending far from distant plains, | |
| Where in its gloom the Prairie reigns, | |
| Seated in grandeur on its throne | 65 |
| Amid a desert world alone. | |
| Oft up the steeps, by rugged path | |
| Sloped by the winter torrent’s wrath, | |
| We toil’d, where high the sumach hung, | |
| And tendral vines around it clung, | 70 |
| Checking our way with woven bowers, | |
| Or twining over head their flowers; | |
| While higher still, in dizzier break, | |
| The trembling aspen tree would shake— | |
| And oft the wand’ring eye would meet | 75 |
| With sparkling crystals ’neath the feet, | |
| Rudely enchased on some dark stone | |
| Shining with lustre not its own. | |
| Hard the ascent, but fair the sight | |
| That spread beneath the lofty height, | 80 |
| Where river, isles, and meadows drew | |
| Their varied pictures to the view,— | |
| Or would the downward eye forbear | |
| To dwell on scene so soft and fair, | |
| ’T was but to raise a level glance | 85 |
| And all was rude and bold at once, | |
| Where the dark Bluffs, half bare, half crown’d, | |
| Arose in gloomy sternness ’round. | |
| For many a day the stream we stemm’d, | |
| Through isles that still its bosom gemm’d, | 90 |
| While oft, where back the cliffs retired, | |
| The waving plain, in green attired, | |
| Smiled in the dark and deep recess, | |
| Like guarded spot in wilderness; | |
| (Where Hamadryades might sport, | 95 |
| Or fairies hold their dewy court.) | |
| At last our bark, ’mid eddies toss’d | |
| And foam that all the wave emboss’d, | |
| Was warn’d—ere yet the torrent’s roar | |
| Was heard—to turn its keel ashore. | 100 |
| Now clambering up the steep ascent, | |
| Our course along the brink was bent, | |
| Where the descending, broken flood, | |
| On rocks that firm its force withstood, | |
| Show’d signs of mightier conflict near | 105 |
| Whose rumblings now rose on the ear. | |
| Why checks my guide on yonder rise, | |
| And bends to earth in mute surprise, | |
| As the Great Spirit of the air | |
| Had burst upon his vision there? | 110 |
| ’T was the vast Cataract that threw | |
| Its broad effulgence o’er his view, | |
| Like sheet of silver hung on high | |
| And glittering ’neath the northern sky. | |
| Nor think that Pilgrim eyes could dwell | 115 |
| On the bright torrent as it fell, | |
| With soul unawed. We look’d above | |
| And saw the waveless channel move, | |
| Fill’d from the fountains of the north | |
| And sent through varied regions forth, | 120 |
| Till, deep and broad and placid grown, | |
| It comes in quiet beauty down— | |
| Unconscious of the dizzy steep | |
| O’er which its current soon must sweep. | |
| The eye hung shuddering on the brink, | 125 |
| As it had powerless wish to shrink, | |
| Then instant sunk, where ’mid the spray | |
| All the bright sheet in ruin lay. | |
| The tumult swells, and on again | |
| The eddying waters roll amain, | 130 |
| Still foaming down in angry pride, | |
| Till mingling rivers smooth its tide. | |
| Nor did the isle, whose promont wedge | |
| Hangs on the torrent’s dizzy edge, | |
| Escape the view; nor sister twin | 135 |
| That smiles amid the nether din— | |
| Closed in the raging flood’s embrace, | |
| And free from human footstep’s trace; | |
| Where the proud eagle builds his throne | |
| And rules in majesty alone. | 140 |
| Approaching still and more entranced | |
| As still the ling’ring step advanced, | |
| We stood at last in pleased delay | |
| O’erlooking all the bright display, | |
| While the gay tints of western flame | 145 |
| That down the day’s obliqueness came, | |
| On hanging sheet and level stream | |
| Darted a soft and slanting beam. | |
