 | The miscellaneous writings of Henry Ware |  |
330
THE WATERFALL AT CATSKILL.
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM IN THE HOTEL,
July 2, 1826.
Bold, bold, and beautiful, the headlong wave
Leaps from the dizzy height—in floods of foam
Broken and glittering—flinging up its clouds
Of playful mist, that meet the wanton sun,
And take all hues, and deck the shattered stream
In floating rainbows, that, like fairy forms
Before the dreamer's eye, flit here and there,
Now bright, now faded. Thus it plunges on,
Roaring and restless, till the gulf profound
Spreads wide its peaceful bosom, and the vexed,
Impetuous torrent slumbers in the shade.
Such be my quiet, when life's troubled tide
Shall reach the vale serene of tranquil age!
Leaps from the dizzy height—in floods of foam
Broken and glittering—flinging up its clouds
Of playful mist, that meet the wanton sun,
And take all hues, and deck the shattered stream
In floating rainbows, that, like fairy forms
Before the dreamer's eye, flit here and there,
Now bright, now faded. Thus it plunges on,
Roaring and restless, till the gulf profound
Spreads wide its peaceful bosom, and the vexed,
Impetuous torrent slumbers in the shade.
Such be my quiet, when life's troubled tide
Shall reach the vale serene of tranquil age!
So it has been for ages—so shall be
For ages yet to come. Years roll on years,
And find that sound and motion still unchanged.
Things that have life decay; but thou, fair rill,—
So like a living thing, that yet art none,—
Thou changest not. The forests round thee die;
The beasts that roam them perish in their shade;
The solid rock, thy bed, is worn away;
Empires are moved. And man, the prince of all,
Lives but to die. And thou dost see this change
Pass upon all, and in perpetual youth
Dost sing and frolic 'mid a world of graves.
For ages yet to come. Years roll on years,
And find that sound and motion still unchanged.
Things that have life decay; but thou, fair rill,—
So like a living thing, that yet art none,—
Thou changest not. The forests round thee die;
The beasts that roam them perish in their shade;
The solid rock, thy bed, is worn away;
331
Lives but to die. And thou dost see this change
Pass upon all, and in perpetual youth
Dost sing and frolic 'mid a world of graves.
| The miscellaneous writings of Henry Ware | |