 | Lays and ballads |  |
67
THE LAND OF THE WEST.
Thou land whose deep forest was wide as the sea,
And heaved its broad ocean of green to the day,
Or, waked by the tempest, in terrible glee
Flung up from its billows the leaves like a spray;
The swift birds of passage still spread their fleets there,
Where sails the wild vulture, the pirate of air.
And heaved its broad ocean of green to the day,
Or, waked by the tempest, in terrible glee
Flung up from its billows the leaves like a spray;
The swift birds of passage still spread their fleets there,
Where sails the wild vulture, the pirate of air.
Thou land whose dark streams, like a hurrying horde
Of wilderness steeds without rider or rein,
Swept down, owning Nature alone for their lord,
Their foam flowing free on the air like a mane:—
Oh! grand were thy waters, which spurned as they ran
The curb of the rock and the fetters of man!
Of wilderness steeds without rider or rein,
Swept down, owning Nature alone for their lord,
Their foam flowing free on the air like a mane:—
Oh! grand were thy waters, which spurned as they ran
The curb of the rock and the fetters of man!
68
Thou land whose bright blossoms, like shells of the sea,
Of numberless shapes and of many a shade,
Begemmed thy ravines where the hidden springs be,
And crowned the black hair of the dark forest maid;—
Those flowers still bloom in the depth of the wild
To bind the white brow of the pioneer's child.
Of numberless shapes and of many a shade,
Begemmed thy ravines where the hidden springs be,
And crowned the black hair of the dark forest maid;—
Those flowers still bloom in the depth of the wild
To bind the white brow of the pioneer's child.
Thou land whose lost hamlets were circled with maize,
And lay like a dream in the silence profound,
While murmuring its song through the dark woodland ways
The stream swept afar through the lone hunting-ground:—
Now loud anvils ring in that wild forest home,
And mill-wheels are dashing the waters to foam.
And lay like a dream in the silence profound,
While murmuring its song through the dark woodland ways
The stream swept afar through the lone hunting-ground:—
Now loud anvils ring in that wild forest home,
And mill-wheels are dashing the waters to foam.
Thou land where the eagle of Freedom looked down
From his eyried crag through the depths of the shade,
Or mounted at morn where no daylight can drown
The stars on their broad field of azure arrayed:—
Still, still to thy banner that eagle is true,
Encircled with stars on a heaven of blue!
From his eyried crag through the depths of the shade,
Or mounted at morn where no daylight can drown
The stars on their broad field of azure arrayed:—
Still, still to thy banner that eagle is true,
Encircled with stars on a heaven of blue!
| Lays and ballads | |