 | The Western home |  |
272
FALLS OF THE YANTIC.
Hills, rocks, and waters! here ye lie,
And o'er ye spreads the same blue sky,
As when, in early days,
My childish foot your cliffs essay'd,
My wondering eye your depth survey'd,
Where the vex'd torrent stays.
And o'er ye spreads the same blue sky,
As when, in early days,
My childish foot your cliffs essay'd,
My wondering eye your depth survey'd,
Where the vex'd torrent stays.
O'er bolder scenes mine age hath stray'd
By floods that make your light cascade
Seem as an infant's play;
Yet dearer is it still to me,
Than all their boasted pageantry
That charms the traveller's way.
By floods that make your light cascade
Seem as an infant's play;
Yet dearer is it still to me,
Than all their boasted pageantry
That charms the traveller's way.
For here, enchanted, side by side,
With me would many a playmate glid
When school-day's task was o'er,
Who deem'd this world, from zone to zone,
Had nought of power or wonder known
Like thy resounding shore.
With me would many a playmate glid
When school-day's task was o'er,
Who deem'd this world, from zone to zone,
Had nought of power or wonder known
Like thy resounding shore.
273
Light-hearted group! I see ye still,
For Memory's pencil, at her will,
Doth tint ye bright and rare;
Red lips, from whence glad laughter rang,
Elastic limbs that tireless sprang,
And curls of sunny hair.
For Memory's pencil, at her will,
Doth tint ye bright and rare;
Red lips, from whence glad laughter rang,
Elastic limbs that tireless sprang,
And curls of sunny hair.
I will not ask if change or care
Have coldly marr'd those features fair;
For, by myself, I know
We cannot till life's evening keep
The flowers that on its dewy steep
At earliest dawn did blow.
Have coldly marr'd those features fair;
For, by myself, I know
We cannot till life's evening keep
The flowers that on its dewy steep
At earliest dawn did blow.
Yet, lingering round this hallow'd spot,
I call them, though they answer not,
For some have gone their way,
To sleep that sleep which none may break,
Until the resurrection wake
The prisoners from their clay.
I call them, though they answer not,
For some have gone their way,
To sleep that sleep which none may break,
Until the resurrection wake
The prisoners from their clay.
But thou, most fair and fitful stream,
First prompter of my musing dream,
Still lovingly dost smile,
And, heedless of the conflict hoarse
With the rude rocks that bar thy course,
My lonely walk beguile.
First prompter of my musing dream,
Still lovingly dost smile,
And, heedless of the conflict hoarse
With the rude rocks that bar thy course,
My lonely walk beguile.
274
Still thou art changed, my favourite scene!
For man hath stolen thy cliffs between,
And torn thy grassy sod;
And bade the intrusive mill-wheel dash,
And many a ponderous engine crash,
Where Nature dream'd of God.
For man hath stolen thy cliffs between,
And torn thy grassy sod;
And bade the intrusive mill-wheel dash,
And many a ponderous engine crash,
Where Nature dream'd of God.
Yet to the spot where first we drew
Our breath, we turn unchanged and true,
As to a nurse's breast;
And count it, e'en till hoary age,
The Mecca of our pilgrimage,
Of all the earth most blest.
Our breath, we turn unchanged and true,
As to a nurse's breast;
And count it, e'en till hoary age,
The Mecca of our pilgrimage,
Of all the earth most blest.
And so, thou cataract, strangely wild,
My own loved Yantic's wayward child,
That still dost foam and start;
Though slight thou art, I love thee well,
And, pleased, the lay thy praise doth tell,
Which gushes from the heart.
My own loved Yantic's wayward child,
That still dost foam and start;
Though slight thou art, I love thee well,
And, pleased, the lay thy praise doth tell,
Which gushes from the heart.
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