Shall moulder in the dirt from whence he came,
Forgot, or only recollected to his shame,
Quoted shall be these gallant, honest men,
By many a warrior's voice, and poet's pen,
To wake the sleeping spirit of the land,
And nerve with energy the patriot band.
Beyond, on either side the river's bound,
Two lofty promontories darkly frown'd,

Through which, in times long past, as learned say,
The pent up waters forc'd their stubborn way;
Grimly they frown'd, as menacing the wave,

That storm'd their bulwarks with its current brave,
And seem'd to threaten from their shatter'd brow,
To crush the vessels all becalm❜d below,
Whose white sails, hanging idly at the mast,
O'er the still waves a deep reflexion cast.
Still farther off, the Kaatskill, bold and high,
Kiss'd the pure concave of the arched sky,
Mingled with that its waving lines of blue,
And shut the world beyond from mortal view.

"Twas sunset's hallow'd time-and such an eve Might almost tempt an angel Heaven to leave. Never did brighter glories greet the eye, Low in the warm, and ruddy Western sky; Nor the light clouds at Summer eve unfold More varied tints of purple, red, and gold.

Some in the pure, translucent, liquid breast
Of crystal lake, fast anchor'd, seem'd to rest,
Like golden islets scatter'd far and wide,
By elfin skill in Fancy's fabled tide;
Where, as wild Eastern legends idly feign,
Fairy, or genii, hold despotic reign.

Others, like vessels gilt with burnish'd gold,
Their flitting airy way are seen to hold,
All gallantly equipt with streamers gay,
While hands unseen, or Chance directs their way;
Around, athwart, the pure ethereal tide,
With swelling purple sail, they rapid glide,
Gay as the barque, where Egypt's wanton queen
Reclining on the shaded deck was seen,
At which as gaz'd the uxorious Roman fool,
The subject world slipt from his dotard rule.
Anon, the gorgeous scene begins to fade,
And deeper hues the ruddy skies invade;
The haze of gathering twilight Nature shrouds,
And pale, and paler, wax the changeful clouds.
Then sunk the breeze into a breathless calm,
The silent dews of evening dropt like balm;
The hungry nighthawk from his lone haunt hies,
To chase the viewless insect through the skies;
The bat began his lantern-loving flight,
The lonely whip-poor-will, our bird of night,
Ever unseen, yet ever seeming near,
His shrill note quaver'd in the startled ear;

The buzzing beetle forth did gaily hie,
With idle hum, and careless blund'ring eye;
The little trusty watchman of pale night,
The firefly, trimm'd anew his lamp so bright,
And took his merry airy circuit round

The sparkling meadow's green and fragrant bound,
Where blossom'd clover, bath'd in balmy dew,
In fair luxuriance, sweetly blushing, grew.

O! holy Nature! goddess ever dear,

What a fair scene for human bliss was here!
What pleasant rural sports, what calm delights,
Dear happy Summer days, and Winter nights,
Might in such tranquil nestling place be spent,
Lull'd in the downy lap of sweet Content!
But vain it is, that rich and bounteous Heav'n,
To wretched man this smiling Earth has giv❜n,
And all in vain its winning face displays
Such beauties to allure his reckless gaze,
While this same rash, malignant, reas'ning worm,
Bereft of all that's human but the form,

Pollutes her bosom with his kindred blood,
Turns to rank poison all her proffer'd good,
And plays before his Maker's siok'ning eyes,
The serpent of this blooming Paradise.
Who that had gaz'd upon a scene so fair

Had dream'd this world a world of endless care,
Where evil deeds lurk ever in our way,

And Piety has nought to do but pray;

While all that lures to ill before us lies,

And all that tempts to good, is in the skies?
Not with wing'd angels good men wrestle here,
Like him of old, whom Israel's tribes revere;
But with a train of imps, in angel guise,
That sometimes even cheat the wary wise:
If one is foil'd, another still succeeds,
For victory but to harder trials leads,
Till tired at last, we quit the hopeless field,
Or to the weakest of the tempters yield,
And all the hard-earn'd trophies thus restore,
Rather than fight one puny battle more.

Now reach'd they Susquehanna's classic stream, Well worthy of the poet's lay I deem; And sweetly is it sung by him whose verse Erewhile did Wyoming's sad tale rehearse, In simple, plaintive, melancholy lay, Worthy the sweetest minstrel of our day: No need that I should tell his gentle name, You'll find it on the roll of deathless Fame. In toilsome journey many a mile they past, And reach'd long Alleghany's foot at last; Wild, endless chain! that rising in the North, Where stout St. Lawrence heaves his waters forth, Pursues its devious course, firm bas'd and high, Dark barrier of the East and Western sky,:

And knits the sister states in one great band,
Ne'er to be sever'd by a mortal hand.

Here, seated where the first and last bright ray
Of morn and ev'ning round his footing play,
By past time, present, and the future bless'd,
Besides the genius of the glowing West.
High thron'd amid the pure ethereal skies,
The East and West with equal ken he eyes,
Watches with equal care each sister state,
The new and old, the little, and the great;
With equal pleasure sees the Sun arise
In ruddy East, or set in Western skies;
And joys, from petty local feelings free,
In ALL the Land's combin'd prosperity.

Hail, blessed Night! tir'd Nature's holiday! When all the lab'ring world has leave to play; Thou smooth'st the sweating workman's wrinkled brow, The galley slave, and peasant at the plough: The stooping sitheman, and the axeman good, Whose weapon's like a whirlwind in the wood, Love thy pale shadows, as with watchful eye They trace the Sun adown the western sky: Thou mak❜st them sweet amends for toilsome pain By the light rest they find beneath thy reign. Not so th' ill-neighbour'd lids of Discontent; They hold no fellowship-and night is spent