 | The battle of Niagara |  |
Oh cool and fresh is that bright blue lake,
While over its stillness no sounds awake:
No sights—but those of the hill-top fountain
That swims on the height of a cloud-wrapped mountain—
The basin of the rainbow-stream,
The sunset gush—the morning gleam—
The picture of the poet's dream.
Land of proud hearts! where Freedom broods
Amid her home of echoing woods,
The mother of the mountain floods—
Dark Goldau is thy vale;
The spirits of Rigi shall wail
On their cloud-bosomed deep, as they sail
In mist where thy children are lying—
As their thunders once paused in their headlong descent,
And delayed their discharge—while thy desert was rent
With the cries of thy sons who were dying.
While over its stillness no sounds awake:
No sights—but those of the hill-top fountain
That swims on the height of a cloud-wrapped mountain—
The basin of the rainbow-stream,
The sunset gush—the morning gleam—
224
Land of proud hearts! where Freedom broods
Amid her home of echoing woods,
The mother of the mountain floods—
Dark Goldau is thy vale;
The spirits of Rigi shall wail
On their cloud-bosomed deep, as they sail
In mist where thy children are lying—
As their thunders once paused in their headlong descent,
And delayed their discharge—while thy desert was rent
With the cries of thy sons who were dying.
| The battle of Niagara | |