То pass the clouds and form a rest for stars.
The dews of even, the vapors of the morn,
The streams that gush from out the rifted rock,
Like tears from manly eyes in sorrow's hour,
Are gathered in thy course to join thy tide,
And
sweep afar unwearied and unbound!
On to th' embrace of Ocean gray and old,
Thy virgin arms in filial love reach forth,
And spotless fingers play in dalliance pure
'Mid his unnumbered locks so white and long.
Thou, girded by the hills that form the shore
Of steep precipitous rocks and grassy banks,
Dost wing thy flight e'en like the bird that soars
Above or skims thy breast; for like that bird,
Thou hast on either side a wing outspread,
Plumed with gay verdure, tipped with blossoms white;
And thou hast changed thy plumage oft, which Time
Hath plucked to warm his withered frame in vain.
With claws of icicles old Winter too
Hath torn away the down-like green that clothed
Thy mighty pinions; yet again sweet Spring
Hath vested thee in beauty, warmed thy heart,
Unriveted thy chains, and broke the bars
Wherewith thou hadst been caged, and set thee free;
The Summer's eye hath made more bright thy hues,
Until the radiance of thy waves and banks
Hath so intensely glowed, that e'en this heart,
In which the spring-tide of its song had ebbed,
And summer-ray of love was almost quenched,
Leaped up in rapture with a strain for thee.
Down to the sea's wide halls thy tireless tide,
From northern hills and mountains' cloven brows,
Still flows when south winds with their life-fraught breath,
Come soft from sunny climes o'er wave and vale.
How sweetly, when the Day hath dropped his lid,
And Eve o'er Nature flings her mantle gray,
Dances the moonbeam to the melody
Which oft thy waters play most musical,
To fill the ear with harpings of the Night.
The Zephyrs fleet on thy wave-covered breast,
Leave as they speed the imprint of their feet,
E'en as the desert steeds their pathway make
On the wide circle of the silvery sand.
I saw the dark wing of the tempest pass,
As with the raven's hue, to dim the sky;
The lightning's glance shot fiercely from the cloud,
As toward the burning day-star fearless looks
Shoot from the daring eagle's eye aloft:
That wing then fanned the water's flushing cheek,
And from my view obscured the moonbeam's smile,
But soon away far in the realms of blue,
With wild storm-shrieks and rushing whirls, it fled.
Then softly came again thy murmur near,
With virgin voice, like whisperings of rain,
Gently it rose the spirit of the air,
Telling of joy, and love, and liberty!
Oh! the sweet rush of waters, how it speaks
Of Heaven's far bliss, and in the holy heart
Echoes the songs of ransomed souls above,
Songs that shall flow with crystal streams of life,
Eternally along a rapturous tide,
'Mid sacred homes where God is all in all."
Adown thy banks, great River! still I roam,
Though from the overhanging rocks above,
Thy frowns be brooding terror on my path,
Or from the pendant moss thy tear-drops fall
In grief because of my intrusive feet;
A rugged pathway o'er thy rocks I find,
Anon o'ergrown with clambering eglantine,
Feeding its blossoms from a scanty soil,
And now projecting high their sharpened points
T'avenge th' encroachments of the curious foot.
Here, many a grotesque grotto, rock and cave,
Where silence sleeps, and spirits make their home,
Where sunlight is a stranger, and its warmth
A foe that dreads encounter, meet the gaze.
See, in their hollow chambers, that repeat
The pantings of my breast with mocking hate,
What pure stalactites, pendant from the roof,
Like Chasteness drooping with downfallen lids,
Seem in their varied shapes to be the forms
That tricksy spirits love to dwell within,
Wrought by their plastic hands with matchless skill!
These dim recesses, scarcely trod by man,
Seem laboratories for their unseen art,
Or council halls for their prolific minds,
Wherein they mingle Nature's elements,
And frame in mirth her images of life,
Or plan their projects for assaults on man.
Ye rugged Cliffs! whose high embattled fronts
Erect their fortress o'er the eddying tide,
To guard the frontier of this chainless soil,
Birthplace of brave unconquerable souls!
How like the stern commanders in a fight,
Ye stand arrayed with panoply of strength!
What thoughtful grandeur lies imprinted deep
Upon your verdant brows and moistened cheeks,
Like the sad countenance of a care-worn soul;
Yet oh! what terror poised in mid air seems
About to roll upon intruding man,
Who walks a pigmy at your pebbly feet!
Lo! while I speak, your arms are far outstretched
To hurl their rocky missiles down th' abyss,
As if ye were dread catapults of wo!
What demon fell doth now unchain your hands,
And bids you scatter ruin all below?
I hear your voice now hoarsely thundering,
And see your rock-bolts hurtling in the air!
Stay, Ravager of life! stop, Fiend, thy work!
Alas! too late!-he who in solemn awe
And rapt delight had gazed aloft on all
The stern bold veterans of this guarded camp;
He who had said to rocks and cataracts,
"Ye are my foes and yet I dread you not,"
Feels, now descending, their vindictive strokes,
And sinks with shattered corpse upon the strand! 17
O dread Avenger! fearful 'tis for man
To bid defiance to thy potent arm,
Or trifle with thine ancient dignity;
'Tis e'en as if he braved the might of God,
And flung rebellion at His honored throne!
Ye Turrets of the stream! I dread your fall,
And pray th' Omnipotent to keep you up!
With trembling heart and humble voice and step,
I tread in sinuous course the shivered rocks,
And stand at thy dark entrance, mystic Cave!
Which men have called the "Cavern of the Winds." 18 E'en though the showery spray may drench my form, To claim its guerdon for intrusion here,
I enter now and stand within the court
Of this vast temple, whither throng the tribes
Of earth from her unnumbered fonts, to bow
In kindred worship at their altar flood,
As came the Patriarch's children from their homes,
To render homage at the ancient shrine. 19
Within thy high-arched walls, the priestly winds,
Assembled from the distant realms of life,
Do minister apart in solemn train,
Sending aloft the smoke of sacrifice,
In the thick curlings of the rising mist,
The waves their victims, and the flint their knife.
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