 | The battle of Niagara |  |
The sunset was his favourite hour:
His eye would light—his form would tower:
And kindle at departing day,
As if its last, and loveliest ray
Would win his very soul away;
And there were those, who, when he stood,
Sublime in airy solitude,
Upon his mountain's topmost height,
With arms outstretched, to meet the light—
With form bowed down, as if it were
In worship to the fiery air:
Who—had he been from eastern climes,
From sunnier hills—in earlier times—
When thus he bowed him to the sky—
Had charged him with idolatry:
For when he bowed he bowed in truth:
His adoration was the thought,
And worship, that from heaven is caught
When genius blossoms in its youth.
His eye would light—his form would tower:
And kindle at departing day,
As if its last, and loveliest ray
Would win his very soul away;
And there were those, who, when he stood,
Sublime in airy solitude,
Upon his mountain's topmost height,
With arms outstretched, to meet the light—
With form bowed down, as if it were
In worship to the fiery air:
Who—had he been from eastern climes,
From sunnier hills—in earlier times—
When thus he bowed him to the sky—
Had charged him with idolatry:
For when he bowed he bowed in truth:
His adoration was the thought,
And worship, that from heaven is caught
When genius blossoms in its youth.
| The battle of Niagara | |