University of Virginia Library

When the dim day is buried
Beyond the world's sight,
Low-lingering, lurid,
A sorrowful light
Is left on the hilltops;
While bitter winds blow,
Swept down from those chill tops
And summits of snow,
Yet, like a pale crown set,
The hills wear away
The gold of the downset
And dying of day:
So the Indian beheld it
Above his black pine,
Ere the pioneer felled it;
Yet, brother of mine,
No more by the river
You track to the brink
Snowy marks of the beaver;
The musk-rat and mink
Are all that is left now;
So races depart;
And Nature, bereft now,
Place yieldeth to Art.

Yes, bridge-pier and building
Now burden the bank,
Where the slow sunset, yielding,
O'er dark forests sank;
Nor the red man with cunning
His net hangeth here
Where the rapid is running,
Nor plungeth the spear.
Yet raftsmen and wrecker
Subsist by the stream;
Here find their exchequer:
Nor empty, we deem,
Are the boats and the barges
That softly drop down,
Bearing burthen and largess
Of hillside and town.
But the heart no change knoweth:
The stream shifts its side;
Wind cometh and goeth,
But sorrows abide.
The bank breaketh inward;
The hills heave and sink:
Without and withinward,
All gather or shrink.
See where, by yon birches,
The wave rested still!
Now the wild water lurches
And lashes at will;
Nor oarsman nor sculler
Could draw on the tide,
Though his cheek wore the colour
Of roses in pride.
But the depth and the deadness
Of grief will not flow:
O sorrow and sadness,
That this should be so!
Though the wave and the earthquake
May swallow the shore,
Yet wild sorrow and heart-break
Will part nevermore!