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The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson

... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c

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THE FORESTERS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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111

THE FORESTERS.

DESCRIPTION OF A PEDESTRIAN JOURNEY TO THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

ARGUMENT.

Exordium—American scenery seldom the theme of poetry—the season —the Foresters, Duncan, Leech, and the author—Germantown— Springhouse tavern—its guests, &c.—Bucks, a Dutch settlement— employment of Hans and his frau—Easton—Blue Mountains—a school—the teacher—the dignity, utility, and miseries of the profession —prayer in behalf of teachers—Effects of a tornado—Shades of Death—woodman's hut—Address to the Susquehanna—Benevolent landlord—Duncan in love—Hospitality apostrophized—money the greatest curiosity in the township—Pat Dougherty's hotel—Wyalusing —French royalists in exile—Breakneck—Spanish Hill—Apostrophe to Industry—Chemung—Eulogium on Sullivan and others—Newtown —Catherine's Swamps—Exiled Indian's Lament—Fowling—howling of wolves—a panther seen—the forest on fire—appearance of the woodman—his hut—parting of friends—a nocturnal voyage—Address to Columbus—Trapper's hut—an Indian hunter—Fort Oswego— Lake Ontario—embarkation—Sickness—Landing at Queenstown— First view of the falls of Niagara—Description of the various falls— Address to the God of Nature—the Foresters set out on their return —lodge near the Falls—Dream of the scenery—awake in horror of perishing in the rapids, and are again rocked to rest by the tumult of the waters.

Sons of the city! ye whom crowds and noise
Bereave of peace and Nature's rural joys,
And ye who love through woods and wilds to range,
Who see new charms in each successive change;

112

Come roam with me Columbia's forests through,
Where scenes sublime shall meet your wandering view:
Deep shades magnificent, immensely spread,
Lakes, sky-encircled, vast as ocean's bed,
Lone hermit streams that wind through savage woods,
Enormous cataracts swoln with thundering floods;
The settler's farm

A term usually applied in America to those persons who first commence the operations of agriculture in a new country, by cutting, clearing, and actual settlement. The varied appearance of the woods when these are rapidly going on, forms a busy, novel, and interesting picture.

with blazing fires o'erspread,

The hunter's cabin and the Indian's shed,
The log-built hamlet, deep in wilds embraced,
The awful silence of th'unpeopled waste:
These are the scenes the Muse shall now explore,
Scenes new to song, and paths untrod before.
To Europe's shores, renowned in deathless song,
Must all the honours of the bard belong?
And rural Poetry's enchanting strain
Be only heard beyond th'Atlantic main?
What though profuse in many a patriot's praise,
We boast a Barlow's soul-exalting lays;
An Humphreys, blessed with Homer's nervous glow,
And Freedom's friend and champion in Freneau;
Yet Nature's charms that bloom so lovely here,
Unhailed arrive, unheeded disappear;
While bare bleak heaths, and brooks of half a mile
Can rouse the thousand bards of Britain's Isle.
There scarce a stream creeps down its narrow bed,
There scarce a hillock lifts its little head,
Or humble hamlet peeps their glades among,
But lives and murmurs in immortal song;
Our western world, with all its matchless floods,
Our vast transparent lakes and boundless woods,
Stamped with the traits of majesty sublime,
Unhonoured weep the silent lapse of Time,
Spread their wild grandeur to the unconscious sky,
In sweetest seasons pass unheeded by;
While scarce one Muse returns the songs they gave,
Or seeks to snatch their glories from the grave.

113

The sultry heats of Summer's sun were o'er,
And ruddy orchards poured their ripened store;
Stripped of their leaves the cherry av'nues stood,
While sage October ting'd the yellow wood,
Bestrew'd with leaves and nuts the woodland path,
And roused the Katydid

A species of Gryllus, very numerous and very noisy in the woods at that season.

in chattering wrath;

The corn stood topped, there punkins strewed the ground,
And driving clouds of blackbirds wheeled around.
Far to the south our warblers had withdrawn,
Slow sailed the thistle-down along the lawn,
High on the hedge-rows, pendant over head,
Th'embow'ring vines their purple clusters spread.
The buckwheat flails re-echoed from the hill,
The creaking cider-press was busier still;
Red through the smoky air the wading sun
Sunk into fog ere half the day was done;
The air was mild, the roads embrowned and dry,
Soft, meek-eyed Indian Summer

This expression is so well understood in the United States as hardly to require any explanation. Between the months of October and December there is usually a week or two of calm serene, mirky weather, such as here described, which is nonsensically denominated the Indian Summer. [I add—This corresponds with our English St. Martin's Summer in October and November.]

ruled the sky.

Such was the season when equipt we stood
On the green banks of Schuylkill's winding flood,
Bound on a Tour wide northern forests through,
And bade our parting friends a short adieu.
Three cheerful partners: Duncan was the guide,
Young, gay, and active, to the Forest tried;
A stick and knapsack, all his little store,
With these, whole regions Duncan could explore;
Could trace the path to other eyes unseen,
Tell where the panther, deer, or bear had been;
The long dull day through swamp and forest roam,
Strike up his fire and find himself at home;
Untie his wallet, taste his frugal store,
And under shelbury bark profoundly snore;
And, soon as morning cheered the forest scene,
Resume his knapsack and his path again.
Next Leech advanced, with youthful sails unfurled,
Fresh on his maiden cruise to see the world;

114

Red o'er his cheek the glow of health was spread,
And oilskin covering glittering round his head;
His light fuzee across his shoulder thrown,
His neat-slung knapsack full and glistening shone;
Though unknown regions wide before him lay,
He scorned all fear while Wilson shared the way.
He next appeared, with glittering arms supplied,
A double gun, a deadly dirk beside;
A knapsack, crammed by Friendship's generous care,
With cakes and cordials, drams, and dainty fare;
Flasks filled with powder, leathern belts with shot,
Clothes, colours, paper, pencils—and what not.
With hope elate, and ardour in his eye,
He viewed the varying scenes approaching nigh,
Prepared and watchful (heedless of repose)
To catch the living manners as they rose;
Th'exploits, fatigues, and wonders to rehearse,
In no inglorious or enfeebled verse;
Nor scene nor character to bring to view
Save what fair Truth from living Nature drew.
Thus each equipt beneath his separate load,
We, fellow-pilgrims, gaily took the road;
A road immense, yet promised joys so dear,
That toils, and doubts, and dangers, disappear.
Behind us soon the lessening city flies,
New vallies sink and other hills arise,
Till through old Germantown we lightly trod,
That skirts for three long miles the narrow road;
And rising Chesnut-Hill around surveyed,
Wide woods below in vast extent displayed.
Studded with glitt'ring farms, the distant view
Died into mingling clouds and mountains blue;
The road was good, the passing scenery gay,
Mile after mile passed unperceived away;
Till in the west the day began to close,
And Spring-house tavern furnished us repose.

115

Here two long rows of market-folks were seen,
Ranged front to front, the table placed between,
Where bags of meat and bones, and crusts of bread,
And hunks of bacon all around were spread;
One pint of beer from lip to lip went round,
And scarce a crumb the hungry house-dog found;
Torrents of Dutch from every quarter came,
Pigs, calves, and saur-craut the important theme;
While we, on future plans revolving deep,
Discharged our bill and straight retired to sleep.
The morning star shone early on our bed:
Again our march the vigorous Duncan led.
The vault of heaven with constellations hung,
Their myriads twinkling as he cheerly sung,
Beguiling the lone hours. Thus half the day,
O'er hill and dale our stretching journey lay,
Through fertile Bucks

The country of Bucks, is a wide well-cultivated tract of country, containing nearly half-a-million of acres, and upwards of 30,000 inhabitants.

, where lofty barns abound:

For wheat, fair Quakers, eggs, and fruit renowned;
Full fields, snug tenements, and fences neat,
Wide spreading walnuts drooping o'er each gate;
The spring-house peeping from enclustering trees,
Gay gardens filled with herbs, and roots and bees,
Where quinces, pears, and clustering grapes were seen,
With pond'rous calabashes hung between;
While orchards, loaded, bending o'er the grass,
Invite to taste and cheer us as we pass.
But these too soon give place to prospects drear,
As o'er Northampton's barren heights

Northampton is an oblong, hilly country, adjoining that of Bucks. It is crossed nearly at right angles by that remarkable range of the Allegany, known by the name of the Blue Ridge or Blue Mountain, which presents the appearance of an immense rampart, extending further than the eye can reach, with an almost uniform height of summit.

we steer;

Bleak land of stones, deep swamps, and pigmy woods
Where the poor Swabian o'er his drudgery broods;
Toils hard; and when the heats of harvest burn,
Gleans from the rocks his pittance in return.
Yet though so cursed his soil, his sheaves so few,
All-conquering Industry still bears him through:
Averse to change, pleased patiently to plod
The same dull round his honest father trod.

116

Below his low-roofed hut on yonder green,
There no gay front or proud piazza's seen:
Let wealthy fools their precious hoards disburse,
No whim can tempt him to untie his purse.
A moss-grown penthouse shades his narrow door,
One window 'joins, with patches covered o'er;
Around the garden numerous hives are ranged,
And pendent gourds to fading yellow changed.
Sheds, smoke-house, hog-pens, crowd the miry yard,
Where endless yells from growling pigs are heard.
Approach this humble hut; look in, nor fear;
Say, could Ambition find one comfort here?
Yet sweet Content e'en here is sometimes found,
Turning the wheel, or slumb'ring by its sound.
No mirrors dazzle, no rich beds appear,
Wide wasting Fashion never entered here.
Those plates of pewter, ranged along the frame,
In ancient days from distant Teuchland came.
That oaken table, so uncouth and low,
Stood where it stands some sixty years ago.
In this arm-chair where Hans delights to snore,
His great-grandfather nodded long before.
Thus glows his greasy stove throughout the year,
The torrid zone for ever rages here.
Here, when the shades of weary evening fall,
Sits Hans, the lord and sovereign of all;
Das Neue Callender

The New Almanac.

from the nail unhooks,

His dark brows solemn, and morose his looks;
Beside his lamp, with spectacles on nose,
To-morrow's weather seeks, its rains or snows;
The moon's eventful signs, th'auspicious hour
To plant the downward root or rising flower;
Of witch-confounding doctors tells the tale,
Sips his metheglin, or his cider stale.
All other joys for which he ever sighs
His dear-loved saur-craut or his pipe supplies.

117

Abroad at toil ere yet the morning breaks,
Each rugged task his hardy frau partakes;
With brawny arms the struggling ploughshare guides,
Whips up her nags and o'er the furrow strides;
Awakes the echoes with her clamorous tongue,
And lends e'en Hans a clout when things go wrong;
Sweeps round her head the loud-resounding flail,
And sweats the sturdiest mower in the vale.
Light beat our hearts with changing prospects gay,
As down through Durham Vale we bend our way,
And pause, its furnace curious to explore,
Where flames and bellows lately wont to roar,
Now waste and roofless; as its walls we pass
The massive shells lie rusting in the grass!
There let them rust, fell messengers of death!
Till injured Liberty be roused to wrath,
In whose right hand may they, though hosts oppose,
Be blasting thunderbolts to all her foes.
The setting sun was sinking in the west,
And brightly burnishing the mountain's breast,
When from afar, as down the steep we hie,
The glittering roofs of Easton caught the eye:
Low in the shelter'd vale, while rude around
Hills piled on hills the dreary prospect bound.
Around the mountain's base, in winding pride,
The rapid Lehigh rolls his amber tide,
To meet old Delaware, who moves serene,
While Easton rises on the plains between.
Tired with the day's long toil we gladly greet
The snug stone buildings, and the pavements neat;
The busy townsmen, jabbering Dutch aloud,
The court-house, ferry, hanging signs, and crowd;
At length one waving sign enchained our view,
'Twas Pat's Split-crow,—a filthy raven too:
Thither for rest and shelter we repair,
And home's kind decencies, that ne'er were there.

118

Here might the Muse with justice due, record
The wretched fare its scurvy walls afford;
The black wet bread, with rancid butter spread,
The beastly drunkards who beside us fed;
The beds with fleas and bugs accursèd stored,
Where every seam its tens of thousands poured:
The host's grim sulkiness, his eager look,
When from our purse his glittering god we took.
But nobler themes invite; be these suppressed,
The eagle preys not on the carrion's breast.
Long ere the morn had showed its opening sweets,
We clubbed our arms, and passed the silent streets;
Slow o'er the pavement limpingly we tread,
But soon recovering, every ailment fled.
Forward we march, o'er mountains rude and bare,
No decent farm, and even a cabin rare;
Thick wastes of ground-oak

This species of dwarf oak produces great quantities of acorns, which the bears, pigeons, grous, jays, &c., are extremely fond of. It grows to the height of about five feet, very close, and affords good shelter for the deer and bear.

o'er the country spread,

While haggard pines sigh distant overhead.
Lo! the Blue Mountain now in front appears,
And high o'er all its lengthened ridge uprears;
Th'inspiring sight redoubled vigour lends,
And soon its steeps each traveller ascends;
Panting we wind aloft, begloomed in shade,
'Mid rocks and mouldering logs tumultuous laid
In wild confusion; till the startled eye
Through the cleft mountain meets the pale blue sky
And distant forests; while sublimely wild,
Tow'rs each tall cliff to heaven's own portals piled,
Enormous gap

This pass in the Blue Mountain is usually called the Wind Gap. The reader will find some curious conjectures on its formation, in Jefferson's Notes on Virginia.

, if Indian tales be true,

Here ancient Delaware once thunder'd through,
And rolled for ages; till some earthquake dread,
Or huge convulsion, shook him from his bed.
Here, under rocks, at distance from the road,
Our pond'rous knapsacks cautiously we stowed;
The mountain's top determined to explore,
And view the tracks already travelled o'er;

119

As nimble tars the hanging shrouds ascend,
While hands and feet their joint assistance lend;
So we, from rock to rock, from steep to steep,
Scaled those rude piles, suspended o'er the deep;
Through low dwarf underwood with chesnuts crowned,
Whose crooked limbs with trailing moss were bound.
Eager we brush th'impending bushes through,
Panting for breath, and wet with dashing dew:
Cliff after cliff triumphant we attain,
And high at last its loftiest summits gain:
But such a prospect—such a glorious show!
The world, in boundless landscape lay below:
Vast coloured forests, to our wandering eyes,
Seemed softened gardens of a thousand dyes;
Long lakes appeared, but at the increase of day
Assumed new forms

The effect of this deception was really astonishing. Nothing could be more evident to the eye—the shores, the waters, studded with numerous islands, seemed to disappear as if by enchantment.

, and rolled in mist away.

Scooped from the woods unnumbered spots were seen,
Embrowned with culture, or with pasture green;
Some cottage smoke moved slow, and dimly white,
But every hut had dwindled from the sight:
In long-trailed fogs that all its windings showed,
For many a league the distant Delaware flowed;
And all beyond seemed to the ravished eye
One waste of woods, encircling earth and sky.
We gazed delighted—then, with short delay,
Descending fixed our loads and marched away.
From this rough mountain, northward as we bend,
Below us, wide the woody hills extend;
The same ground-oak o'er all the country lies,
The same burnt pines in lonely prospect rise,
Mute and untenanted; save where the jay
Set up his shrill alarm, and bore away.
One solitary hawk that sailed serene,
Secure, and eyeing the expanded scene,
High from his zenith, 'midst the bursting roar,
Dropt at our feet, and fluttered in his gore.

120

‘Thus falls,’ said Duncan, ‘many a son of pride,
While buoyed in thought o'er all the world beside.’
From these dull woods, emerging into day,
We pass where farms their opening fields display;
Barns, fences, cottages, and lawns appeared,
Where various sounds of human toil were heard;
There round a hut, upon a sloping green,
Gay laughing bands of playful boys were seen:
Soon ‘Books,’ aloud is thunder'd from the door,
And balls and hoops must charm the hours no more;
But frequent tears the blotted leaves assail,
And sighs for dear-loved liberty prevail.
Thither, by long yet fond remembrance led,
With awe we enter this sequestered shed;
All eyes are turned the strangers to survey:
One tap is heard! and all the hint obey;
Then grave and courteous, rising from his seat,
The decent Master bows with meekness meet,
Invites to sit—looks round with watchful eyes,
And bids, by signs, alternate classes rise;
Hears, reads, instructs, with solemn voice and slow,—
Deep, busy silence muffling all below;
Slates, pens, and copy-books in order pass,
And peace and industry pervade each class.
Dear to the Muse, to Truth, to Science dear,
Be he who humbly toils and teaches here!
His worth, his labours, shall not sleep forgot,
And thus the Muse records them as she ought.
Of all professions that this world has known,
From clowns and cobblers upwards to the throne;
From the grave architect of Greece and Rome,
Down to the framer of a farthing broom;
The worst for care and undeserved abuse,
The first in real dignity and use,
(If skilled to teach and diligent to rule)
Is the learned Master of a little school;

121

Not he who guides the legs, or skills the clown
To square his fist, and knock his fellow down;
Not he who shows the still more barbarous art
To parry thrusts, and pierce the unguarded heart;
But that good man, who, faithful to his charge,
Still toils, the opening reason to enlarge;
And leads the growing mind, through every stage,
From humble A, B, C, to God's own page;
From black, rough pothooks, horrid to the sight,
To fairest lines that float o'er purest white;
From Numeration, through an opening way,
Till dark Annuities seem clear as day;
Pours o'er the mind a flood of mental light,
Expands its wings, and gives it powers for flight,
Till Earth's remotest bound, and heaven's bright train
He trace, weigh, measure, picture, and explain.
If such his toils, sure honour and regard,
And wealth and fame shall be his dear reward;
Sure every tongue shall utter forth his praise,
And blessings gild the evening of his days!
Yes—Blest indeed, by cold ungrateful scorn,
With study pale, by daily crosses worn;
Despised by those who to his labour owe
All that they read, and almost all they know;
Condemned, each tedious day, such cares to bear
As well might drive e'en Patience to despair;
The partial parent's taunt—the idler dull—
The blockhead's dark, impenetrable scull—
The endless round of A, B, C's whole train,
Repeated o'er ten thousand times in vain.
Placed on a point, the object of each sneer,
His faults enlarge, his merits disappear;
If mild—‘Our lazy master loves his ease,
The boys at school do anything they please;
If rigid—‘He's a cross, hard-hearted wretch,
He drives the children stupid with his birch;

122

My child, with gentle means, will mind a breath,
But frowns and flogging frighten him to death.’
Do as he will his conduct is arraigned,
And dear the little that he gets is gained;
E'en that is given him, on the quarter day,
With looks that call it—money thrown away.
Just Heaven! who knows the unremitting care
And deep solicitude that teachers share;
If such their fate, by Thy divine control,
O give them health and fortitude of soul!
Souls that disdain the murderous tongue of Fame,
And strength to make the sturdiest of them tame;
Grant this, ye powers! to Dominies distrest,—
Their sharp-tailed hickories will do the rest.
Again the shades of sober Eve appeared,
Up the dark windings of a Creek we steered,
Where, glad to rest, and each in hungry plight,
In Marewine's humble hut we spent the night.
Our social host piles up a jovial fire,
Brings his best cider, still as we desire,
Inspects our arms, with nice inquiring gaze,
And while we eat, his hunting spoils displays;
The skins of wolves and bears, a panther's jaws

This animal, generally, though improperly, called by the above name, is felis couguar of European writers; and is considered as the most dangerous and formidable inhabitant of our forests on this side of the Ohio. They are still numerous among the mountains of Pennsylvania that border on the Susquehanna, and frequently destroy deer, calves, sheep, colts, and sometimes, it is said, horses and cows. They are bold and daring; and lie in wait in the low branches of trees for the deer, on whom they spring with prodigious force, and soon destroy them. The one mentioned above had seized a calf in the evening, within a few feet of the girl who was milking; who, supposing it to be a large dog, gave the alarm, and attempted to drive it off. The old hunter, our landlord, soon drove him up a tree with his dog, where he shot him.

,

His horrid tusks and life-destroying claws;
Recounts the toils and terrors of the chase,
And gave us fiddling too, by way of grace;
All which, when bed-time warned us to lie down,
We fully paid him for with half-a-crown.
Refreshed with sleep, before the peep of day,
O'er rising Pocano

A small spur of the Blue Ridge, and one of the few places in Pennsylvania frequented by the tetrao cupido, or pinnated grous.

we scour away.

Beyond whose top the Dismal Swamp extends,
Where Tobihanna's savage stream descends.
Here prostrate woods, in one direction strewed,
Point out the path the loud tornado

These tornadoes are very frequent in the different regions of the United States. The one above alluded to had been extremely violent; and for many miles had levelled the woods in its way. We continued to see the effects of its rage for above 20 miles.

rode,

When from the black north-east it gathered strong,
Creating ruin as it roared along,

123

Crashing outrageous. Still with awe-struck mien,
The pilgrim stops, and gazes on the scene.
Huge pines that towered for centuries on high,
Crushed by each other's ruins prostrate lie;
Black with devouring flames, of branches bare,
Their ragged roots high tilted frown in air;
While shivered trunks, like monuments of wrath,
Add deeper horror to the wreck beneath.
Cut through this chaos rude, the narrow road,
Alone by solitary traveller trod,
Winds through the wilds of this forlorn domain
Where ruin drear and desolation reign.
Here as we loitered on, with restless gaze,
Absorbed in silence, musing and amaze,
The rustling bushes and the snorting sound,
Of startled Bruin

At this season of the year great numbers of bears resort to the mountains in search of whortleberries, which they devour with great voracity. They are at this time very fat, and some are frequently shot that weigh upwards of 400 lbs.

fixed us to the ground!

With levelled guns we momentary stood—
He's gone! loud crashing through the distant wood;
Sad disappointment throbs in every breast,
And vengeance dire is threatened on the rest.
And now each passing stump, and bush, and nook,
Is eyed with eager and suspicious look;
But one deep solitude around prevails,
And scarce a cricket, eye or ear assails.
Thus many a tedious mile we travelled o'er,
Each passing scene more rueful than before;
Till night's dun glooms descending o'er our path,
We took up lodgings at the Shades of Death

A place in the Great Swamp, usually so called, from its loud, hollow situation, overgrown with pine and hemlock trees of an enormous size, that almost shut out the light of day.

.

The blazing fire, where logs on logs were laid,
Through the red hut a cheerful radiance spread;
Large horns of deer the owner's sports reveal,
The active housewife turns her buzzing wheel;
Prone on the hearth, and basking in the blaze,
Three plump but ragged children loitering gaze;
And all our landlord's odd inquiries o'er,
He dealt out tales and anecdotes in store;

124

Of panthers trapt

Our host made himself very merry by relating to us an anecdote of one of his neighbours, living ten or twelve miles off, who, having fixed his large steel traps, in the evening, returned to the spot next morning, when, to his terror, he saw two panthers (f. couguar) surrounding a trap in which a very large one was taken by the leg. Afraid to hazard a shot, lest the surviving one who was at liberty might attack him he hurried home, loaded another gun and gave it to his wife, an intrepid amazon, who immediately followed him to the scene. Arrived within forty or fifty yards, the hunter presented to take aim, but was so agitated with terror that he found himself altogether unable. His wife instantly knelt down before him, ordering him to rest the rifle on her shoulder, which he did, and by this expedient succeeded in killing the three.

, of wounded bears enraged,

The wolves and wildcats

Felis Montano, mountain lynx. Another species is also found among these mountains, and appears to be the f. rufa of Turton. I measured one that from the nose to the insertion of the tail, was upwards of three feet.

he had oft engaged,

The noble bucks his rifle had brought down,
How living rattlesnakes he took to town.
His dog's exploits—the glory of his kind!
Now gashed by bears, and lame, and almost blind;
Displayed his hat, with bullet-holes o'errun,
To prove the many matches he had won.
On powder, rifles, locks and balls enlarged,
And a whole broadside on his art discharged.
The mother spun, the children snored around,
And Sox, the landlord, still fresh stories found;
Our nodding heads the power of sleep confess'd,
And the kind hunter led us to our rest.
Once more the dawn aroused us to the road:
Our fare discharged, we left this lone abode,
And down, through deepening swamps, pursued our way,
Where pines and hemlocks quite shut out the day.
Majestic solitudes; all dead and deep!
The green moss matted o'er each mouldering heap;
On every side with watchful looks we spy,
Each rustling leaf attracts our eager eye:
Sudden the whirring tribe before us rise!
The woods resound, the fluttering partridge

This is the tetrao Virginianus of Linnæus. In the States of New England it is called the quail.

dies;

Light floating feathers hover on the gale,
And the blue smoke rolls slowly through the vale.
Again, slow-stealing o'er the shaded road,
Trailing their broad barr'd tails, two pheasants

The bird here called a pheasant is the ruffed grous (tetrao umbellus) of European naturalists. In New England it is called the partridge.

strode;

The levelled tube its fiery thunders poured,
And deep around the hollow forest roared;
Low in the dust the mangled victims lie,
And conscious triumph fills each traveller's eye.
Now thickening rains begin to cloud the air,
Our guns we muffle up—our only care;
Darker and heavier now the tempest lowered,
And on the rattling leaves incessant poured;

125

The groaning trees in hollow murmurs waved,
And wild around the rising tempest raved;
Below dark-dropping pines we onward tread,
Where Bear Creek grumbles down his gloomy bed,
Through darksome gulfs; where bats for ever skim,
The haunts of howling wolves and panthers grim.
At length two hovels through the pines appear,
And from the pelting storm we shelter here.
Two lank lean dogs pace o'er the loosened floor,
A pouch and rifle hung behind the door;
Shrill through the logs the whistling tempest beats,
And the rough woodsman welcomes us to seats.
Before the blazing pile we smoking stand,
Our muskets glittering in the hunter's hand;
Now poised, now levelled to his curious eye,
Then in the chimney-corner set to dry.
Our clear, green powder-flasks were next admired,
Our powder tasted, handled, rubbed, and fired;
Touched by the spark, lo! sudden blazes soar,
And leave the paper spotless as before.
From foaming Brandywine's rough shores it came,
To sportsmen dear its merit and its name;
Dupont's best Eagle

A celebrated manufacturer of gunpowder on the Brandywine, whose packages are usually impressed with the figure of an eagle.

, matchless for its power,

Strong, swift and fatal as the bird it bore.
Like Jove's dread thunderbolts it with us went,
To pour destruction wheresoever sent.
These, as they glistened careless by our side,
With many a wishful look the woodsman eyed.
Thus bears on beech-nuts, hungry steeds on maize,
Or cats on mice, or hawks on squirrels gaze.
His proffered skins of all the forest train,
His looks, and empty horn, implored in vain!
Till to a family's wants we freely give
What cold, hard-hearted Prudence bade us save.
And, now this treasure on our host bestowed,
His sunburnt visage at the present glowed;

126

New-moulded bullets quickly he prepared,
Surveyed the glistening grain with fixed regard,
Then charged his rifle with the precious store,
And threw the horn his brawny shoulders o'er;
Secured his punk, his matches, purse and steel,
The dogs in transport barking at his heel;
Then, in his blanket, bade his wife good-bye,
For three long nights in dreary woods to lie.
Our morsel ended, through the pouring rain,
O'er barren mountains we proceed again;
And now Wiomi opened on our view,
And, far beyond, the Alleghenny blue,
Immensely stretched; upon the plain below,
The painted roofs with gaudy colours glow,
And Susquehanna's glittering stream is seen
Winding in stately pomp through vallies green.
Hail, charming river! pure transparent flood!
Unstained by noxious swamps or choaking mud;
Thundering through broken rocks in whirling foam,
Or pleased o'er beds of glittering sand to roam;
Green be thy banks, sweet forest-wandering stream!
Still may thy waves with finny treasures teem:
The silvery shad and salmon crowd thy shores,
Thy tall woods echoing to the sounding oars;
On thy swol'n bosom floating piles appear,
Filled with the harvest of our rich frontier:
The pine-browned cliffs, thy deep romantic vales,
Where wolves now wander, and the panther wails;
Where, at long intervals, the hut forlorn
Peeps from the verdure of embowering corn;
In future times (nor distant far the day)
Shall glow from crowded towns and villas gay;
Unnumbered keels thy deepened course divide,
And airy arches pompously bestride;
The domes of Science and Religion rise,
And millions swarm where now a forest lies.

127

Now up green banks, through level fields of grass
With heavy hearts the fatal spot we pass,
Where Indian rage prevailed, by murder fired,
And warriors brave by savage hands expired;
Where bloody Butler's iron-hearted crew,
Doomed to the flames the weak submitting few;
While screams of horror

The massacre here alluded to, took place after the battle of 3rd July, 1778, which was fought near this spot. The small body of American troops were commanded by the brave, humane, and intelligent officer, Colonel Butler; the tories and savages were headed by another Colonel Butler, of a very different description. Were I disposed to harrow up the feelings of the reader, I might here enlarge on the particulars of this horrible affair; but I choose to decline it. Those who wish to see a detail of the whole are referred to the Philadelphia Universal Magazine for March 20, 1797, p. 390.

pierced the midnight wood,

And the dire axe drank deep of human blood.
Obscured with mud, and drenched with soaking rain,
Through pools of splashing mire we drove amain,
Night darkening around us; when in lucky hour,
Led by its light we reached a cottage door;
There welcomed in, we blest our happy lot,
And all the drudgery of the day forgot.
A noble fire its blazing front displayed,
Clean shelves of dazzling pewter round arrayed,
Where rows of ruddy apples, ranged with care,
With grateful fragrance filled the balmy air;
Our bard (chief orator in times like these,)
Though frank, yet diffident, and fond to please,
In broken German joked with all around,
Told who we were, from whence and whither bound;
The cottage group a ready opening made,
And “welcome friends,” the little Dutchman said.
Well pleased, our guns and knapsacks we resigned,
Th'adjoining pump or running stream to find;
There washed our boots, and entering, took our seat,
Stript to the trousers in the glowing heat.
The mindful matron spread her table near,
Smoking with meat, and filled with plenteous cheer;
And, supper o'er, brought forth and handed round
A massy bowl with mellow apples crowned;
For all our wants a mother's care expressed,
And pressed us oft, and picked us out the best;
But Duncan smiled, and often seemed to seek
More tempting fruit in Susan's glowing cheek;

128

Where such sweet innocence and meekness lay
As fairly stole our pilot's heart away:
He tried each art the evening to prolong,
And cheered the passing moments with a song,
So sadly tender, with such feelings raised,
That all but Susan with profusion praised;
She from his glance oft turned her glistening eye,
And paid in tears and many a stifled sigh.
Thus passed the evening charmingly away,
Each pleased and pleasing, innocent and gay;
Till early bed-time summoned us to part,
And Susan's glances spoke her captive heart.
Swift flew the night, in soundest sleep enjoyed,
By dawn we start and find all hands employed;
The wheel, the cards, by fire-light buzzing go;
The careful mother kneads her massy dough;
Even little Mary at her needle sits,
And while she nurses pussy, nicely knits.
Our generous friends, their courtesy bestowed,
Refused all price, and pointed out the road;
With kindest wishes bade us all farewell;
What Susan felt, the rising tear could tell.
Blest Hospitality! the poor man's pride,
The stranger's guardian, comforter, and guide,
Whose cheering voice and sympathetic eye,
Even angels honour, as they hover nigh;
Confined (in mercy to our wandering race)
To no one country, people, age, or place;
But for the homeless and the exiled lives,
And smiles the sweeter still the more she gives;
O, if on earth one spot I e'er can claim,
One humble dwelling, even without a name,
Do thou, blest spirit! be my partner there,
With sons of wo our little all to share;
Beside our fire the pilgrim's looks to see,
That swim in moisture as he looks on thee;

129

To hear his tales of wild woods wandering through,
His ardent blessings as he bids adieu;
Then let the selfish hug their gold divine,
Ten thousand dearer pleasures shall be mine.
The morning fogs that o'er the country lay,
Dispersing, promised a delightful day,
Clear, warm, serene; the sun's resplendent beams,
Plays on the rocks and from the river gleams;
The cheerful robins

Turdus migratorius.

chattering round us fly,

And crested wood-cocks

Picus pileatus, the great scarlet-crested black woodpecker; called also in some of the Southern States, the log-cock.

hammer from on high.

Poor Duncan's sober looks and glistening eye,
His broken sentences, and half-fetched sigh,
His frequent backward gaze, and anxious mien,
While Susan's sheltered cottage could be seen,
Betrayed the thoughts that hovered through his breast,
The fruitful source of many a rallying jest;
At length his song the echoing forest hailed,
And laughing Comus over love prevailed.
By Susquehanna's shores we journey on,
Hemmed in by mountains over mountains thrown;
Whose vast declivities rich scenes display
Of green pines mixed with yellow foliage gay;
Each gradual winding, opening to the sight
New towering heaps of more majestic height,
Grey with projecting rocks; along whose steeps
The sailing eagle

Falco leucocephalus, the white-headed or bald eagle.

many a circle sweeps.

Few huts appeared; the wretched few we spied
Seemed caves where Sloth and Poverty reside;
The ragged owners happier far to hear
Men, boys, and dogs arouse the bounding deer;
In fluttering rags, with scarce a hat or shoe,
Down the rough steep the roaring chase pursue.
To tree the bear; the midnight wolf to watch;
Minx, otters, 'possums, or racoons to catch;
The bloodly panther boldly to destroy,
Their highest glory, and their greatest joy.

130

While round each hut the richest soil is seen,
Bleak squalid wretchedness is found within;
Filth, want, and ignorance from sire to son,
The sad attendants of the dog and gun;
As sage experience long ago has said,—
A good amusement, but a wretched trade.
'Twas now deep noon, the winding pathway led
Beneath tall maples near the river's bed,
Where moss-grown logs in mouldering ruins lay,
And spice and dogwood fringed the narrow way;
The scarlet berries clustering hung around,
And mixed with yellow leaves bestrewed the ground;
There glistening lay, extended o'er the path,
With steadfast, piercing eye, and gathering wrath,
A large grim rattlesnake,—of monstrous size,
Three times three feet in length,—enormous lies;
His pointed scales in regular rows engraved,
His yellow sides with wreaths of dusky waved;
Fixed to the spot, with staring eyes we stood,
He slowly moving, sought the adjoining wood;
Conscious of deadly power, he seemed to say,
“Pass on: in peace let each pursue his way.”
But when th'uplifted musket met his view,
Sudden in sounding coils his form he threw!
Fierce from the centre rose his flattened head,
With quivering tongue and eyes of fiery red,
And jaws extended vast, where threatening lay
The fangs of death in horrible array:
While poised above, invisible to view,
His whizzing tail in swift vibration flew.
Back sprung our Bard! and, aiming to let fly,
Glanced o'er the deadly tube his vengeful eye;
And now destruction seemed at once decreed,
But Duncan's pleading checked the barbarous deed;
‘O spare the brave!’ our generous pilot cried,
‘Let Mercy, sir! let Justice now decide;

131

This noble foe, so terrible to sight,
Though armed with death, yet ne'er provokes the fight;
Stern, yet magnanimous, he forms his den
Far from the noisy dangerous haunts of men.
Th'unconscious foot that presses him he spares,
And what was harmless meant, forgiving bears;
But dare his life—Behold, he rises brave,
To guard that being bounteous Nature gave;
We are th'aggressors here, the hero he;
Honour the brave defence of one to three!’
He spoke. Three cheers the voice of Mercy hailed,
And heaven's most glorious attribute prevailed.
Here, in deep glens, we groves of shellbarks found,
And brought their thousands rattling to the ground.
Here clustering grapes on bending saplings grew,
And down the loaded vines we labouring drew;
The luscious fruit our vigorous toil repaid,
And Bacchus' honours crowned us in the shade.
Now Keeler's Ferry heartily we hail,
And o'er the clear expanse serenely sail;
High up th'adjacent banks again we go,
The lessened river winding deep below;
Here rocky masses from the cliffs we tore,
And down the mountain made them bounding roar
Through tops of crashing pines, with whistling sound,
Dashing the thundering waves in foam around.
Now night drew on, dull owls began to scream;
We crossed Tunkhannoc's slow and silent stream,
Lodged at a famished inn that near it stood,
Of all things destitute, save fire and wood;
Old Squares, the owner, indolent and poor,
His house unshingled and without a door;
No meat, or drink, or bread, or liquor there,—
As Afric's wilds, of every comfort bare.
But Duncan's load across his cudgel cast,
Fruits, birds, and beasts, bespeak a rich repast;

132

While Leech's knapsack loaves of bread supplied,
And mine a cordial for the heart beside;
So, sans delay, all hands at once begin,
Some pick the pheasants, some the squirrels skin,
Soon o'er the fire our crackling nostrums brawl,
And soon like hungry wolves to work we fall;
Hew down the wheaten loaf o'er whose thick side
The ample sheets of yellow butter glide;
While piles of bones like polished ivory rise,
And the starved boors look on with wild surprise.
Such blessèd comforts health and hunger bring,
The hunter feasts more nobly than the king,
Whose sated appetite, by luxury cloyed,
Even the richest sauces satiate unenjoyed.
The table cleared, our Journal we survey,
And minute down the wanderings of the day;
For fresh materials at our host inquire,—
Who broiled his brawny limbs before the fire.
‘What Township's this, old daddy?’ ‘Why—hm—well;
Township? The dickens, Sir, if I can tell;
It's Pennsylvania though.’ ‘Right, daddy Squares.
Who are your nearest neighbours?’ ‘Why, the bears.’
‘No mill or school-house near you?’ ‘Yes, we've one
Beyond the church a piece, on Panther's Run.’
‘Is church far distant, daddy?’ ‘Why—hm—no;
Down Susquehanna, twenty miles or so.’
‘You go to preaching, then?’ ‘Besure, that's clear;
We go to mill and meeting twice a-year.’
‘No curiosities about?’ ‘Why—yes,
You've brought a few of them yourselves, I guess.’
‘What, dollars?’ ‘Aye, and fi'-pennybits, I swear
Are downright rarities among us here.’
Thus passed the evening, till the time of bed,
When to a kennel we at last were led;
There, slumbering, shivered till the dawn of day,
Then cursed this scurvy cave, and marched away.

133

Before us now in huge extension rise
Dark wood-clad mountains of enormous size;
Surrounding fogs their towering summits hide,
And sailing clouds, in silent grandeur, glide
Around their airy cliffs. These we survey
As dull forebodings of a cheerless day.
Up steeps immense with labouring steps we bend,
Then down in hollow gulfs for miles descend,
Buried in depth of woods, obscure and dark,
Where pheasants drum and angry squirrels bark.
With these (though rain in streaming torrents poured)
Our pilot's pack abundantly we stored;
And when, at length the driving tempest cleared,
And through the woods a distant hut appeared,
There, though the sour inhospitable clown
Returned our smiles with many a surly frown,
Compelled by Hunger,—that imperious lord,—
We cooked our game and shared our little hoard;
And left the savage boor, whose looks conveyed
Dark hate and murder every move they made.
Still through rude wilds with silent steps we steer,
Intent on game, all eager eye and ear;
Each opening turn, each dark recess survey,
Each mouldering heap that round tumultuous lay,
As o'er those Alpine steeps we slowly past;
But all was silent, solitary, vast!
No sound of distant farm assailed the ear,
No rising smoke, no opening fields appear;
But each high summit gained, the eye was shown
Hills piled on hills in dreary prospect thrown.
So, from the mast, when boisterous tempests roar,
And the tost vessel labours far from shore,
The toil-worn sailor all around him spies
One sea of mountains mingling with the skies.
At length with vast descent we winding go,
And see the river gliding deep below;

134

And up the vale, suspended o'er the path,
A sign-board waving o'er the hut beneath;
The straggling characters with soot portrayed,
Defied awhile all efforts that we made;
At length we spelt this precious piece of lore;
‘Pat Dougherty's Hotel and Drygood Store.’
Blest tidings! welcome to the wandering wight,
As sheltered harbours in a stormy night;
And thou, sweet Muse! in lofty numbers tell
The matchless comforts of this log hotel.
Here streams of smoke the entering stranger greet,
Here man and beast with equal honors meet;
The cow, loud bawling, fills the spattered door,
The sow and pigs, grunt social round the floor;
Dogs, cats, and ducks in mingling groups appear,
And all that Filth can boast of, riots here.
Happy the hungry souls who hither speed!
Here, like cameleons, they may freely feed;
Here champ, with vigorous jaws, the empty air,
Without a bottom find one broken chair;
On dirty benches snore the night away,
And rise like thieves upon their judgment day.
Ye threadbare pilgrims! halt as ye pass by,
This gorgeous store will all your wants supply;
Three long tobacco-pipes the shelf adorns,
Two rusty penknives fit to saw your corns,
One rag of calico in musty folds,
A stick of liquorice-ball for coughs and colds;
And one half keg of brandy—glorious cheer!—
Arrives from Philadelphia once a year.
What boundless wealth! what can they wish for more,
Who such a tavern meet and such a store?
To crown the whole—defiled from ear to ear,
Behold the majesty of clouts appear!
The ragged lord of all this costly scene,
Whose hands and face old ocean scarce could clean;

135

Whose sun-burnt legs and arms and shoulders bore
What once was coat and trowsers—such no more!
But shapeless fragments, gashed with holes profound,
And rag-formed fringes dangling all around.
Bent o'er a tub that once tobacco knew,
And still from whence the dear effluvia flew,
Pat grumbling stood; and while he eager viewed,
Each nook and seam, the scanty gleanings chewed;
His busy mouth such savoury joys exprest
That scarce our stifled laughter we supprest.
On this foul mass of misery as we gazed,
The man of rags his brandy loudly praised;
Leech sought the door, disgusted with the scene,
And Duncan followed, grasping hard his cane;
Our Bard alone, with pleasure in his face,
Silent surveyed the wonders of the place;
In whose vile groups he but a picture saw,
That all might marvel at, but few could draw.
Though long and rough the road before us rose,
And toil and evening urged us to repose,
Yet were the forest glooms at once preferred
To this vile Hottentot's most beastly herd.
So thence, up towering steeps again we scale,
And trace the depths of many a darksome vale;
While oft some oak's huge, antiquated form,
That through long ages had defied the storm;
Whose hollow trunk had lodged the skulking bear,
While owls and 'possums found concealment there,—
Rose like the ruins of some reverend pile,
While moss and lichens its hoar arms defile;
Great in distress it mouldering drops away,—
Time's mournful monitor of life's decay.
Night's shades at last descend—the stars appear—
Dull, barking dogs proclaim the village near;
Soon Wyalusing round us we survey,
And finished here the labours of the day.

136

The inn was silent, not a mortal there,
Before the fire each plants his crazy chair,
When slow downstairs a cautious step was heard,
And Job, the landlord, soberly appeared;
Begged our excuse—bewailed his luckless lot,
‘Wife in the straw, and everything forgot;’
So finding honest Job so hard bestead,
We skinned our squirrels, supped, and went to bed.
The morning dawned, again we took the road,
Each musket shouldered o'er the lightened load,
Through Wyalusing's plains we gaily pass,
'Midst matted fields of rank luxuriant grass.
Here Nature bounteous to excess has been,
Yet loitering hunters scarce a living glean;
Blest with a soil that, even in Winter day,
Would all their toils a hundred-fold repay,
Few cultured fields of yellow grain appear,
Rich fenceless pastures rot unheeded here.
Huge from the vale the towering walnuts grow,
And wave o'er wretched huts that lie below;
No blossomed orchards scent their opening May,
No bleating flocks upon their pastures play;
‘The wolves,’ say they, ‘would soon our flocks destroy,
And planting orchards is a poor employ.’
The hungry traveller, dining on this plain,
May ask for fowls and wish for eggs in vain;
And while he dines upon a flitch of bear,
To wolves and foxes leave more gentle fare.
Now down through hoary woods we scour along,
Rousing the echoes with our jovial song,
Through paths where late the skulking Indian trod,
Smeared with the infant's and the mother's blood.
Their haunts no more: far to the setting day,
In western woods their prowling parties stray,
Where vast Superior laves his drifted shores,
Or loud Niagara's thundering torrent roars;

137

Gaul's exiled royalists—a pensive train,—
Here raise the hut, and clear the rough domain;
The way-worn pilgrim to their fires receive,
Supply his wants, but at his tidings grieve;
Afflicting news for ever on the wing,
A ruined country and a murdered king!
Peace to their lone retreats, while sheltered here,
May those deep shades to them be doubly dear;
And Power's proud worshippers, wherever placed,
Who saw such grandeur ruined and defaced;
By deeds of virtue to themselves secure
Those inborn joys that spite of kings endure,
Though thrones and States from their foundations part,—
The precious balsam of a blameless heart.
All day up winding solitudes we past,
Steep hung o'er steep, as if at random cast;
Through every opening, towering groups were seen
Piled to the clouds, with horrid gulphs between;
Thus (as the bard of old creation sings,
'Mongst other marvellous scenes and mighty things,)
When squabbling angels raised in heaven a rout,
And hills uprooted flew like hail about;
Thus looked, in those tremendous days of yore,
Their field of battle when the fight was o'er;
Impending cliffs with ruined woods o'ergrown,
And mountains headlong over mountains thrown.
One vast pre-eminent ascent we scaled,
And high at last its level summit hailed;
There, as we trod along fatigued and slow,
Through parting woods the clouds appeared below,
And lo! at once before our ravished view,
A scene appeared, astonishing and new:
Close on the brink of an abyss we stood,
Concealed till now by the impending wood;
Below, at dreadful depth, the river lay,
Shrunk to a brook, 'midst little fields of hay;

138

From right to left, where'er the prospect led,
The reddening forest like a carpet spread;
Beyond, immense, to the horizon's close,
Huge amphitheatres of mountains rose.
Charmed with this spot, our knapsacks we resigned,
And here, like gods, in airy regions dined;
Like gods of old the cordial cup we quaffed,
Sung songs to Liberty, and joked and laughed;
Huzza'd aloud—then listening from on high,
If humbly slumbering Echo would reply.
A long dead pause ensued—at once the sound
In tenfold shouts from distant hills rebound;
Not Polyphemus' self e'er louder roared,
When burning goads his monstrous visage gored.
‘Huzza, huzza!’ the echoing mountains cry;
‘Huzza, huzza!’ more distant hills reply;
And still more distant, till the faint huzza,
In lessening shouts, successive died away.
Surprised, astonished—heedless of our meal,
We seized our muskets for a nobler peal;
Filled their dark bowels with the glistening grain,
And facing, pointed to the extended scene;
Then at the word their fiery thunders poured,
That through the wide expanse impetuous roared.
Deep silence hung—the loud returning roar
From bellowing mountains thunders o'er and o'er;
Peal after peal successive bursts away,
And rolls tremendous o'er the face of day;
From hill to hill the loud responses fly,
And in the vast horizon lessening die

This echo may be considered as one of the greatest curiosities of this part of the country.—After more than a quarter of a minute had elapsed, the sound was reverberated with astonishing increase, at least ten successive times, each time more and more remote, till at last it seemed to proceed from an immense distance. The word, or words were distinctly articulated; as if giants were calling to one another from mountain to mountain. When our guns were discharged at once, the effect was still more astonishing, and I scarcely believe, that a succession of broadsides from a train of seventy-fours, at like distances, in any other place, would have equalled it. The state of the atmosphere was very favourable; and the report roared along the clouds in one continued peal. This detached mountain stands near the line which separates New York from Pennsylvania, not far from the public road; is of a conical form, and may be between two and three hundred feet high.

.

Thus from Olympus,—o'er a prostrate world,
The fabled Jove his bolts imperious hurled;
Earth heard, and echoed back the peals profound,
And heaven's exalted regions shook around.
With deep reluctance, ne'er to be forgot,
And many a lingering look, we left this spot,

139

Since called Olympus—worthier of the name
Than that so blazoned by the trump of Fame.
Ye souls! whom Nature's glorious works delight,
Who chance to pass o'er this stupendous height,
Here turn aside; and if serene the day,
This cliff sublime will all your toils repay;
Here regions wide your ravished eye will meet,
Hills, rivers, forests, lying at your feet:
Here to Columbia make your muskets roar,
While heaven's artillery thunders back encore.
'Twas now dull twilight, trudging on we keep,
Where giddy Breackneck nods above the steep;
And down the dark'ning forest slowly steer,
Where woods receding, showed a dwelling near;
A painted frame, tall barracks filled with hay,
Clean white-washed railings raised along the way;
Young poplars, mixed with weeping willows green,
Rose o'er the gate, and fringed the walk within;
An air of neatness, gracing all around,
Bespoke that courtesy we quickly found;
The aged Judge, in grave apparel dressed,
To cushion'd chairs invites each weary guest;
O'er the rich carpet bids the table rise,
With all the sweets that India's clime supplies;
And supper served with elegance, the glass
In sober circuit was allowed to pass.
The reverend sire, with sons and grandsons round,
Ruddy as health, by Summer suns embrowned,
Inquires our road and news, with modest mien,
Tells of the countries he himself had seen;
His Indian battles, midnight ambuscades,
Wounds and captivity in forest glades;
And with such winning, interesting store,
Of wild-wood tales and literary lore,
Beguiled the evening and engaged each heart,
That though sleep summoned, we were loth to part;

140

And ev'n in bed reposed, the listening ear
Seemed still the accents of the sage to hear.
The morning came; ye gods! how quickly hies
To weary folks the hour when they must rise!
Groping around we fix our various load,
And full equipt forth issued to the road:
Inured to toil, the woods slide swiftly past;
O'er many an opening farm our eyes we cast.
Here rich flat meadows most luxuriant lie,
Some glowing orchards gladly we espy,
Full-loaded peach trees drooping hung around,
Their mellow fruit thick scattered o'er the ground;
Six cents procured us a sufficient store,
Our napkins crammed and pockets running o'er;
Delicious fare! Nor did we prize them less
Than Jews did manna in the wilderness.
Still journeying on, the river's brink we keep,
And pass the Narrows' high and dangerous steep,
That to the clouds like towering Atlas soars,
While deep below the parted river roars.
Beyond its eastern stream, on level lands,
There Athens (once Tioga) straggling stands;
Unlike that Athens known in days of old,
Where Learning found more worshippers than gold;
Here waste, unfinished, their sole school-house lies,
While pompous taverns all around it rise.
Now to the left the ranging mountains bend,
And level plains before us wide extend,
Where rising lone, old Spanish-hill appears,
The post of war in ancient unknown years;
Its steep and rounding sides with woods embrowned,
Its level top with old entrenchments crowned;
Five hundred paces thrice we measure o'er
Ere all their circling boundaries we explore;
Now overgrown with woods alone it stands,
And looks abroad o'er open fertile lands.

141

Here on the works we ruminating lay,
Till sudden darkness muffled up the day;
The threatening storm soon drove us to the plain,
And on we wandered through the woods again.
For many a mile through forests deep we passed,
Till girdled trees rose to the view at last;
The fence and field successively appear,
And jumbling cow-bells speak some cottage near;
Anon the sounding axe, the yelping dogs,
The ploughman's voice, the sight of snorting hogs;
And sudden opening on the ravished eye,
Green fields, green meadows, gardens, orchards, lie
In rich profusion round the cottage neat,
Log-built; but Peace and Industry's retreat.
Here down green glades the glittering streams descend;
Here loaded peach trees o'er the fences bend;
Deep flow'ry pastures clothe the steeps around,
Where herds repose, and playful coursers bound.
The groaning cider-press is busy heard.
The fowls loud cackling swarm about the yard;
The snowy geese harangue their numerous brood,
The flapping flail re-echoes through the wood;
And all around that meets the eye or ear,
Proclaims the power that spreads its influence here.
Hail rural Industry! man's sturdiest friend,
To thee each virtue must with reverence bend;
To thee what heart denies spontaneous praise,
From gloomy woods such glorious scenes to raise!
Great giver of God's gifts to man below,
Through whose rough hand all human blessings flow.
Here as in ancient and illustrious Rome,
May chiefs and heroes cheer thy humble home;
The wise, the brave, from public broils retreat,
To walk with heaven and thee, through arbours sweet;
To share thy toils, thy little plans inspire,
And joke at night around thy glowing fire.

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Still, near thy hut, upon the flowery green,
May Temperance, Hope, and Cheerfulness be seen;
Health, Plenty, Innocence, thy temples crown,
And Peace each night embosom thee in down;
And still, where'er thy humble roofs arise,
In northern climes, or under burning skies,
May guardian Liberty thy fields enclose,
Befriend thy friends, and baffle all thy foes.
Cheered with the rural sweets on every side,
Slow through this charming vale we gaily glide.
Delightful spot! from stormy winds secured,
By mountains sheltered and in wilds immured;
Still as we pass rich level fields appear,
Chemung's huge barns and fertile farms draw near.
How changed those scenes from what so late they were;
Ere Freedom's banners waved triumphant here;
While o'er our coasts a powerful foe prevailed,
Here from behind the savages assailed;
In bloody bands ransacked our weak frontier,
Fire, rapine, murder, marked their fell career.
Amid his corn the gasping planter fell,
Deep sunk the axe, and direful rose the yell;
The midnight cottage, wrapt in sweet repose,
In flaming ruins with the morning rose;
There slaughtered corses, babes and fathers lay,
The naked mothers driven 'mid fiends away.
To thee, brave Sullivan! who scourged this crew,
Thy country's gratitude shall still be due;
And future ages on these summits rear
Honours to him who planted freedom here.
We pause to mark amid this valley green
How changed the tenant, how improved the scene!
Where wretched wigwams late like kennels stood,
Where bark-canoes stole skulking o'er the flood,
Where mangled prisoners groaned, and hatchets glared,
And blood-stained savages the fire prepared!

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There glittering towns and villages extend,
There floating granaries in fleets descend,
There ploughmen chant, and mowers sweep the soil,
And taverns shine, and rosy damsels smile.
Thanks to the brave, who through these forests bore
Columbia's vengeance on the sons of gore;
Who drove them howling through th'affrighted waste,
Till British regions sheltered them at last.
Here, on the heights, where suddenly arrayed,
These hordes their last despairing effort made,
Where still the mould'ring breastwork meets the view,
From whose defence as suddenly they flew

In this expedition against the hostile Indians, which was committed to the management of General Sullivan, and crowned with the most complete success, the only stand made by the savages was at this place, 29th August, 1799. After a short skirmish they were driven from this their last hold, and pursued beyond the Gennessee river. Forty of their towns, and upwards of 160,000 bushels of Indian corn were destroyed. The remnant of the tribes took refuge in Canada; and thus an immense extent of the most fertile country of the United States was laid open to the enterprise of our active and industrious settlers. The white population of these parts of the State of New-York, settled since, may be fairly estimated at three times the number of all the Indians within five hundred miles of the place.

;

Here, on the approach of night we lodgings found,
And buried all our toils in sleep profound.
The lingering night still hung in drowsy gloom,
Must'ring our loads, we pace the darkened room;
With tedious groping, find at last the door,
And down the narrow stair our way explore;
Dull fogs and darkness o'er the country lay,
But guiding fences pointed out the way.
In cheerful chat we marched along, till morn,
On dewy wings from eastern regions borne,
Rose on the world, and o'er the landscape gay,
'Midst songs of joyous birds, led on the day.
Two whirring pheasants swept across our path,
And swift as lightning flew the fiery death.
A cloud of quails in rising tumult soar;
Destruction follows with resounding roar.
From bough to bough the scampering squirrels bound,
But soon, in smoky thunders, bite the ground;
Life's gushing streams, their sable furs defile,
And Duncan's stick sustains the bloody spoil.
Thus up Tioga's side we thundering steered,
Till Newtown glittering on its banks appeared;
Where opening hills retiring, wide display,
On level plains a city rising gay;

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Ranged on the northern bank, so smooth and green,
Rich busy stores and waving signs are seen;
With crowding boats that here for freight attend,
And deeply loaded to the sea descend.
Here, when soft Spring dissolves the wastes of snows,
And wide, and deep, the roaring river flows,
Huge loaded arks

These vessels are constructed of oak and pine plank, and built in the form of a parallelogram; they are flat-bottomed, and capable of containing many thousand bushels of wheat each; sometimes droves of oxen compose part of their cargoes. On arriving at their place of destination, and the cargo disposed of, the arks are sold to the lumber dealers, and taken to pieces with little trouble.

rush down the boiling tide,

And winding through wild woods triumphant ride;
Hills, towering steeps and precipices high,
Rich plains and hanging rocks, behind them fly;
The watchful pilot every eddy eyes,
As down the torrent's foaming course he flies;
Views with stern look, the frightful Falls disclose,
And down th'outrageous breakers headlong goes;
A thousand toils, a thousand dangers past,
Columbia's harbour

The town of Columbia, on the north-east bank of the Susquehanna, at Wright's Ferry, ten miles from Laurister, is the great depot for those immense stores of wheat, flour, lumber, &c., brought down the river for an extent of more than three hundred miles. The bridge, which it is in contemplation to erect over the Susquehanna, near this town, will be an additional source of prosperity to this thriving and populous place.

shelters them at last.

With lingering steps the busy streets we trace,
Pleased with the prospect of this growing place;
Though now so gay, scarce fifteen years have flown
Since two log huts were all that it could own;
Since waving reeds and scrubby ground-oak grew
Where stores and taverns now arrest the view:
Around the tree where panthers lurked for prey,
Now evening groups of laughing children play;
And churches neat, their pious crowds enclose
Where Indian fires and midnight yells arose.
So wonder-working is the hand of toil,
When Heav'n has blest and Freedom guards the soil;
And streams so vast their powerful aid bestow
To float down plenty wheresoe'er they flow.
Now to the North, through open plains we wind,
And leave the river's bending course behind;
And now, where level lengthening meadows spread,
Through hazel thickets rapidly we tread;
Here, when descending rain in torrents pour,
And the broad meadows float from shore to shore,

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In two wide routes their waters seek the main;
Part through St. Lawrence meets the sea again,
Part to the south pursues its wandering way,
And rolls to Chesapeake's capacious bay

In a matter-of-fact poem, such as this, I need hardly observe, that the above is literally true. The proprietor of part of this meadow assured me, that with his spade he could, at pleasure, send the waters either into the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, or the Chesapeake Bay. A species of salmon, common to the river Susquehanna and to the lake Ontario, has been frequently known to pass from one to the other by this communication.

.

Now dark before us gulfs of pines are seen,
That bear the name still of their Indian Queen;
Great Catherine's Swamps, that deepening round extend,
Down whose dun glooms we awfully descend;
Around us thick the crowding pillars soar,
Surpassing all we ever viewed before,
So straight, so tall, so tow'ring side by side,
Each, in itself, appears the forest's pride:
A thousand fleets, with twice ten thousand more,
May here find masts in everlasting store.
Here melancholy monks might moping dwell,
Nor ray of sunshine ever reach their cell.
Through the dead twilight, reigning horrid here,
In holy groans their relics sad revere.
Great solitary shades! so still and deep,
Even passing sighs in hollow murmurs creep!
The silence deep, the solemn gloom profound,
The venerable piles that rise around,
Such awe impress, that as we upward gaze,
In whispers low we murmur our amaze!
Here to the god

Hunger.

, whose keen voracious brood

Pursue the pilgrim ravenous for food,
With stump of pine, an altar we uprear,
And round its mouldering roots arranged appear;
There bread, cheese, meat, with liberal hand we laid,
And, like true priests, devoured the offering made;
The power appeased, in silence soon withdrew,
And left us braced with vigorous life anew.
All day through this deep swamp, in splattered plight,
Begulfed in mire we laboured on till night,
When lo! emerging from the opening wood,
'Midst narrow fields, a little cottage stood:

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A mill hard by in clattering murmur played,
Before the door a rapid rivulet strayed,
Trees round the garden, bent, with apples hung,
And cows and sheep their twinkling music rung.
Sacred to peace it seemed, and sweet repose,
And here, well pleased, our night's retreat we chose;
Approached the door, presented our request;
The dame's kind looks already bade us rest,
And soon the landlord, entering with his train,
Confirmed her kindness o'er and o'er again;
And now the table showed its welcome head,
With cheering fare, and rural dainties spread;
Green sparkling tea, obscured with floating cream,
Delicious salmon from the neighbouring stream;
Nice cakes of wheaten flour, so crisp and good,
And piles of honeycomb, ambrosial food!
While in the cheerful looks of all around,
A still more pleasing, grateful treat we found.
Our host intelligent, and fond of news,
Long tales of trade and politics pursues;
The States' enlarging bounds, so mighty grown,
That even the bare extent remains unknown;
Of Europe's wars and Bonaparte's glories,
Wolves, rifles, Louisiana, Whigs and Tories;
Of bears and wildcats, many a tale relates,
With every circumstance of day and dates;
Till leaden sleep our weary eye assailed,
And spite of eloquence at length prevailed.
The following morning found us on the way,
Through woods of wallnut trees—conversing gay,—
Whose limbs enormous spread sublime around,
Their huge forefathers mouldering on the ground;
The soil with leaves and showers of nuts was spread,
While millions more hung yellow overhead;
Here maples towered,—with little troughs below,—
From whose gashed sides nectarious juices flow;

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The half-burnt logs, and stakes erected near,
Showed that the sugar-camp

In passing among these stately and noble trees, which grow here in great luxuriance, it is an object of regret to observe how unmercifully their trunks are cut and gashed with the axe; many of these notches are so deep, that the trees have either been killed or overthrown by the first storm of wind. It is well-known that all the chopping is unnecessary; and that a small auger-hole is equally efficient, nowise injurious to the tree, and may be done in one tenth part of the time.

once flourished here.

Ye generous woodsmen! let this bounteous tree,
For ever sacred from your axes be;
O let not mangling wounds its life destroy,
But the nice auger for the axe employ;
So shall these trees for ages lift their head,
And green and fresh their thickening foliage spread;
And each returning Spring their tribute pour,
More rich, and more abundant than before.
Now opening woods, in circuit wide, display
A level vale with lawns and pastures gay,
Where music hailed us from a numerous brood,
The lone bells jumbling through the sounding wood;
Sheep, oxen, cows, in busy parties strayed,
While snorting steeds our passing steps surveyed;
Surrounding hills this peaceful place enclose,
And form a scene of sheltered sweet repose

This Indian town, Catherine, situated near the head of the Seneca Lake, in one of the most delightful and romantic spots imaginable, containing a great number of houses, with large orchards and extensive corn fields. It was totally destroyed in 1779, by the troops under the command of General Sullivan, who, entering the place at night, found it nearly deserted of its inhabitants. One miserable old squaw alone remained, who, from extreme old age, was incapable of walking, and looked like “the last survivor of the former age.” The General ordered a hut to be erected for her, with provisions for her subsistence; but she did not long survive the catastrophe of her nation.

.

Ah! melancholy scene, (though once so dear)
To the poor Indian haply wandering here,
Whose eye forlorn amid the gushing flood,
Beholds the spot where once his wigwam stood;
Where warriors' huts, in smoky pride were seen,
His nation's residence, his native green;
Methinks, even now, where yon red maples play,
The black-haired wanderer slowly bends his way,
And pensive stops, and heaves the stifled sigh,
As well-known objects meet his rural eye;
No words escape him, but while mem'ry grieves,
These gloomy thoughts his burdened heart relieves;
‘O happy days! for ever, ever gone!
When these deep woods to white men were unknown;
Then the Great Spirit gave us from on high,
A plain broad path, and an unclouded sky;
Then herds of deer in every thicket lay,
Peace blessed our nights, and Plenty crowned our day;

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But now dark clouds around our nation roar,
The path is lost, we see the sun no more;
A poor lone wanderer here unhappy raves,
Returned once more to see his fathers' graves;
Where all he sees bereaves his heart of rest,
And sinks like poisoned arrows in his breast.
‘Here stood the tree beneath whose awful shade,
Our aged chiefs the nation's welfare weighed;
In these sweet woods my early days I spent,
There through the hare the quivering arrow sent;
Or stealing wary by that creek so clear,
Transfixed the struggling salmon with my spear;
Here rose our fires in many a towering flame,
When the young hunters found abundant game;
The feast, the dance, whole days and nights employ,
These hills resounding with our screams of joy;
There, on that bank our painted warriors stood,
Their keen knives reddened with the white men's blood:
Now all is lost! and sacrilege is spread!
Curst ploughs profane the mansions of the dead!
Our warriors wander on a distant shore,
And strangers triumph where they begged before.’
Indignant sorrow rushes on his soul,
And in wild agony his eyeballs roll;
Wrapt in his rug the forest he regains,
A homeless exile on his native plains.
Howe'er stern Prejudice these woes may view,
A tear to Nature's tawny sons is due;
The same false virtue and ambitious fire,
Which nations idolize, and kings admire,
Provoke the white man to the bloody strife,
And bid the Indian draw his deadly knife;
The glory ours, in victory to save,
His still to glut with every foe the grave;
Nor age nor sex his country's foe avails,
So strong this passion o'er the rest prevails;

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And equal woes must wring his manly heart,
From native shades for ever forced to part.
Through this sweet vale

Catherine's Creek, which forms the head waters of the Seneca Lake, and falls into its southern extremity. From this lake to the landing, a distance of about five miles, the creek is navigable for large loaded boats. The country between this place and Newtown, on the Susquehanna, is nearly level; and the distance, in a direct line, is probably not more than twenty miles. The practicability of uniting these two waters by a canal, at a comparative small expense, and the immense advantages that would result from the completion of such an undertaking, have long been evident to all those acquainted with that part of the country.

that wooded hills enclose,

A clear deep stream in glassy silence flows;
There sportive trout disturb the dimpling tide,
And shoals of salmon, pike, and suckers glide;
Thick vines and sycamores in rich array,
Bend o'er its banks, and mark its winding way;
Gigantic walnuts

Some of these trees, owing to the richness of the soil, grow to an enormous size. I measured one that was thirty feet in circumference.

bare and blasted rise,

And stretch their bleach'd arms midway to the skies;
There sits the hawk

The fishing hawk, or osprey, differing considerably from the bird of text known in Europe.

, inured to feasts of blood,

Watching the scaly tenants of the flood;
Or listening pensive to the distant roar
Of yon white Falls that down the mountain pour;
Thence to the Lake, broad level marshes spread,
Where close, rank weeds conceal the musk-rat's bed;
Above, around, in numerous flocks are seen
Long lines of ducks o'er this their fav'rite scene;
Some to the Lake in wedg'd divisions bend,
Some o'er the Creek in lengthening showers descend.
Ah, how could sportsmen such a sight survey,
Nor seek to share the pleasures of the day!
Do well-dressed beauties shun theatric walls?
Or sleeps the swain when his own sweetheart calls?
A skiff and paddles o'er the landing lay,
Two striplings proffered to conduct my way.
Fixed in the bow, for slaughter I prepare
The deadly barrels, ready poised in air;
Slow round an opening point we softly steal,
Where four large ducks in playful circles wheel;
The far-famed canvass-backs

These celebrated and justly esteemed ducks appear to be the anas ferina of Linnæus. From the great abundance of their favourite food (the roots of the Valiseneria Americana,) in the tide waters of many of our large rivers, it is probable that their flesh is much more delicious here than in Europe.

at once we know,

Their broad flat bodies wrapt in pencilled snow;
The burnished chesnut o'er their necks that shone,
Spread deepening round each breast a sable zone;
Wary they gaze—our boat in silence glides,
The slow-moved paddles steal along the sides;

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Quick flashing thunders roar along the flood,
And three lie prostrate, vomiting their blood!
The fourth aloft on whistling pinions soared:
One fatal glance, the fiery thunders poured—
Prone drops the bird amid the dashing waves,
And the clear stream his glossy plumage laves.
Now all around us rising trains appear,
Wild whistling wings on every hand we hear;
The alarm of death amid their legions spread,
In files immense they winnow overhead;
Hoarse heavy geese scream up the distant sky,
And all the thunders of our boat defy;
Close, under rustling vines, we skulking glide,
Till the loud uproar and alarm subside;
Here grapes delicious, clustering, hung around,
The mother vine through bending birches wound;
Not richer ripen on Vesuvius' side,
Than here spontaneous nodded o'er the tide.
Now all again is silent and serene,
Slow glides our skiff along the glassy scene;
O'er the flat marsh we mark the plovers sweep,
And clustering close, their wheeling courses keep,
Till, like a tempest, as they past us roar,
Whole crowds descend, to rise again no more;
Prone on the sand the snowy tribe are spread,
Then hove on board, and piled among the dead.
Beyond a point, just opening to the view,
A fleet of ducks collect their scattered crew;
Part soon alarmed, with sudden spattering soar,
The rest remaining seek the farther shore;
There 'cross a neck, concealed by sheltering vines,
Down the smooth tide I view their floating lines:
With sudden glance the smoky vengeance pour,
And death and ruin spread along the shore;
The dead and dying mingling, float around,
And loud the shoutings of my guides resound.

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But now the Lake

The Seneca Lake. This beautful sheet of water is about 40 miles long by from one and-a-half to three miles in breadth. The shores are generally precipitous, consisting of a brittle blue slate in which many curious impressions of marine shells are perceivable. In a short search I found upwards of twenty.

wide opening spreads below,

Bright o'er its smooth expanse the sun-beams glow;
There downward skies in concave vast appear,
And circling wide complete one boundless sphere;
Far-spreading forests from its shores ascend,
And towering headlands o'er the flood impend;
These, deep below, in softened tints are seen,
Where Nature smiles upon herself serene.
‘O lovely scenes!’ in ecstasy I cried,
‘That sink to nothing all the works of pride!
What are the piles that puny mortals rear,
Their temples, towers, however great or fair,
Their mirrors, carpets, tapestry and state,—
The nameless toys that Fashion's fools create!
To this resplendent dome of earth and sky,
Immensely stretch'd, immeasurably high!
Those yellow forests, tinged with glowing red,
So rich around in solemn grandeur spread;
Where here and there, in lazy columns rise,
The woodman's smoke, like incense to the skies!
This heaven-reflecting Lake, smooth, clear, profound,
And that primeval peace that reigns around!
As well may worms compare with souls divine,
As Art, O Nature! match her works with thine.’
Now high in heaven the hastening sun had sped,
My comrades, too, were trudging far ahead;
Piled at my feet enough of carnage lay,—
So, slow to shore, we cut our liquid way.
There, where a hill the level marsh confines,
Lifts its rough front, and o'er the Lake reclines,
Where glittering through the trees that rise below,
A brawling cataract falls in sheets of snow,
Prone from the precipice; and steals unseen,
Through birchen thickets to the Lake serene;
While softened echoes join in cadence sweet,
And sheltering scenery form a blest retreat;

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There, on the slaty shore, my spoils I spread,
Ducks, plover, teal, the dying and the dead;
Two snow-white storks

Ardea alba of Linnæus. These are only summer birds, and very transient visitants in these Northern regions.

, a crane of tawny hue,

Stretched their long necks amid the slaughtered crew;
A hawk

The white-tailed eagle (falco fulvus) so much sought after by Indians of North America, for its quill and tail feathers, with which they plume their arrows, ornament their calumet, and adorn their dresses. It inhabits from Hudson's Bay to Mexico.

whose claws, white tail, and dappled breast,

And eye, his royal pedigree confest;
Snipes, splendid summer-ducks

Called by some the wood-duck (anas sponsa), the most beautiful of its tribe in North America. They are easily tamed, and become very familiar. About thirty-five years ago, a Mr. Nathan Nicholls, who resided in Maryland, on the west side of Gunpowder river, succeeded completely in domesticating these ducks, so that they bred and multiplied with him in great numbers. In their wild state they build in hollow trees, and fly directly in, without alighting at the entrance.

, and divers wild,

In one high heap triumphantly I piled;
Then joining heads that ne'er were joined before,
Across my gun the feathery burden bore;
Sought out the path that scaled the mountain's side,
‘Farewell!’ ‘Goodbye!’ the smiling younkers cried;
Up through the incumbent shades I took my way,
They to their boat with glittering dollar gay.
The day was hot, the load of ponderous size,
To heaven's own gates the mountain seemed to rise;
Large ruined logs the winding labyrinth crost,
And soon the path in tangling brush was lost.
Up these rough steeps I bore my plunder through,
That still more prized and more oppressive grew;
Till drenched with sweat, I gained the mountain's head,
And steered as chance or blind conjecture led;
Filled the deep forest with the shouts I made,
That died, unanswered, through the distant shade;
While startled squirrels, mounting in affright,
Looked down, and chattered, at th'alarming sight.
At length two guns, that made the mountain roar,
Produced an answering peal from those before;
And ten long miles in doubt and drudgery past,
I reached my comrades and the road at last;
Where peals of mirth succeeding their amaze,
They shared my load, and loaded me with praise.
Beyond the woods where Erie's waves extend,
Behold, once more, the setting sun descend;
Lone chirping crickets, hail the coming night,
And bats around us wheel their giddy flight;

153

The drumming pheasant vibrates on the ear;
The distant forests dimly disappear.
Slow sinks the day, and through the impending woods,
Night spreads her wings, and deepening darkness broods.
A death-like silence reigns the forest through,
At last the path evanishes from view.
Here as we stoop, our dubious course to steer,
Inhuman screams at once assail our ear;
The hollow, quivering, loud-repeated howl,
Full overhead, betrays the haggard owl;
Who, well for her, in muffling darkness past,
Else this heart-sinking scream had been her last.
Thus through the forest, wrapt in deepest shade,
Beneath black arms of tow'ring oaks we strayed;
At solemn intervals, the peace profound
Disturbed by rattling nuts that dropt around.
Shrill, wildly issuing from a neighbouring height,
The wolf's deep howlings pierce the ear of Night;
From the dark swamp he calls his skulking crew,
Their nightly scenes of slaughter to renew;
Their mingling yells, sad, savage woes express,
And echo dreary through the dark recess.
Steady along through swamps and pools we went;
The way-worn foresters fatigued and faint,
Scrambling o'er fallen logs that fractured lay,
Or stunned by viewless boughs, that crossed our way;
While glaring round, through roots and stumps decayed,
Phosphoric lights their pallid gleams displayed.
Sudden a horrid human shriek we hear,
That shot its terrors through our startled ear;
‘Ha! are you there!’ the watchful Duncan cried,
‘Halt! fix your bayonets, and look out ahead!’
A second scream announced the panther nigh,
The dark woods echoing back the rueful cry:
Still as the grave, suspending every breath,
Steady we stood to mark its passing path;

154

Prepared and eager for one deadly aim,
To pour destruction through its tawny frame;
But vain our listening; nothing seemed awake,
Save the lone murmur of the neighbouring Lake;
All else lay dead and silent as before,
And even the distant wolf was heard no more.
Amidst this deep Egyptian darkness lost,
Our faithful pilot ne'er forsook his post;
But knew or seemed to know, each swamp and pond,
And kept his steady course unerring on.
Behold! in front, a spreading radiance gleams!
Wide, glowing, ruddy, and immense it seems,
Such as the rising moon's broad orb bestows,
When up night's starry vault she solemn goes;
Each moment brightening, lo! to our amaze,
The woods on fire in ardent fury blaze;
Dark trees before us, of gigantic size,
In deeper shades and gloomy pomp arise;
The flames beyond, ascending, with them bear
Thick clouds of sparkling smoke that fill the air.
Approaching near, it opes in dread display,
Diffusing round th'effulgency of day;
Where, glad to view each other's looks again,
We stand contemplating this furious scene;
Here piles of logs like furnaces appear,
The rows of underbrush rage far and near;
Huge tow'ring oaks amid this sea of fire,
Descend in thunders, and in flames expire:
Or, blazing high, with burning gaps imprest,
Rain showers of fire infectious on the rest;
Loud roar the flames, the crackling branches fly,
And black behind the smoky ruins lie.
Thus some fair city, pride of many an age,
Gleams with the light of War's devouring rage,
Through its high domes the flaming torrents pour,
And naked turrets o'er the burnings lour;

155

The midnight sky reflects the dreadful blaze,
The foe, at distance with enjoyment gaze;
Exult to find their vengeance well employed,
The work of ages in one night destroyed.
So looked the woodman, who behind us stood,
Begrimmed with soot, in tattered garments rude,
On pitchfork leaning, hailed with ‘How d'ye do?’
And looked like Lucifer just risen to view.
At Duncan's voice, advancing, stood amazed,
And each on other for a moment gazed;
‘What, Johnny!’ ‘Duncan!’ ‘Bless my heart, so near!
How glad our folks will be to see you here!’
Kind invitations now were not forgot,
And through corn fields we followed to his cot;
Their ‘O's!’ and ‘Dears!’ and salutations o'er,
The ponderous knapsacks sunk upon the floor;
Seats, quickly ranged, our weary limbs invite,
And kind inquiries all our toils requite;
And while our meal a young brunnette prepared,
The ancient father's humorous jokes we shared;
Though ninety years had silvered o'er his head,
Yet life's green vigour seemed but little fled;
The burning woods that late before us blazed,
His axe had levelled, and his handspike raised;
None laughed more hearty, sung with livelier glee,
Or joked, or told a merrier tale than he;
Kind, cheerful, frank, in youth a sailor brave,
‘Now bound for brighter worlds beyond the grave.’
Two favourite sons, obliging, open, mild,
With wild-wood anecdotes the hours beguiled;
Produced their rifles, sedulous to please,
Described their farm, their horses, harvest, bees;
While a whole hive, the crowded garden's boast,
Crowned our repast, and spoke the generous host.
To Johnny's joke succeeded William's tale,
Sweet Mary served with many a witching smile,

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And thou, Devotion, wert a kindred guest,
Of all our joys the noblest and the best;
Around convened, with David's holy lays,
In solemn strains awoke our evening praise;
The kneeling father's fervent prayers ascend,
‘O be the strangers' comfort, guide and friend;
Their trust, their guardian, wheresoe'er they go,
To view Thy greatness in Thy works below;
O leave them not! but their Director be,
To that last stage that leads them home to Thee!’
Such pious goodness, aged worth so dear,
The trembling voice that spoke the soul sincere,
With thoughts unspeakable my mind opprest,
Till tears relieved the tumult of my breast;
And all to rest retired, and silence deep,
To lose the hardships of the day in sleep.
By bawling calves and jumbling bells awoke,
We start amazed to see the morning, broke;
Such blest oblivion balmy sleep bestows
Where toil-worn Industry and Peace repose.
Geese, turkeys, ducks, a noisy, numerous brood,
Mingle their gabblings with the echoing wood;
Through whose tall pillared trees, extending blue,
The lake Cayuga

This lake is about thirty-eight miles long, and from two to three and four miles in breadth. It is nearly parallel with, and about eight or ten miles east from the Seneca lake. The bed of the former is said to be thirty or forty feet lower than that of the latter, which flows into the Cayuga nearly at its outlet, and forms what is usually called Seneca River. The waters of both these lakes are extremely pure and transparent; are much frequented by wild ducks, and contain abundance of various kinds of fish, particularly salmon, and also suckers of a very large size. One of these last, which we purchased from a party of Indians encamped on the shore, measured upwards of two feet in length.

caught our ravished view.

Soon on its oak-crowned banks sublime, we stood,
And viewed from right to left, its lengthened flood,
Of vast extent, pure, glassy, and serene;
Th'adjacent shores and skirting huts were seen,
The eye could mark the whitened frames, the ear
Faint sounds of barking dogs remotely hear.
Hither before, our liberal friends had sent
Whate'er of stores we voyagers might want,
Filled all our wallets, pressed us to take more,
And side by side conveyed us to the shore;
There the good father grasped each traveller's hand,
His sons and family mingling o'er the strand.

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‘Farewell!’ ‘Goodbye!’ ‘God bless you!’ was the cry,
The tears of friendship swelling in each eye:
Charmed with a love, so free, so nobly shown,
His clubb'd fuzee across his shoulder thrown,
Our pilgrim-Bard the parting group addressed,
And thus his gratitude and ours expressed:
‘For all your goodness, hospitable friends!
We gladly would, but cannot, make amends;
All that we can we humbly offer here,
Our dearest wishes, ardent and sincere;
Long with success may all your toils be blest,
And each rich harvest rival all that's past;
Long may your glittering axe, with strength applied,
The circling bark from massy trunks divide,
Or wheeled in air, while the wide woods resound,
Bring crashing forests thundering to the ground;
Long may your fires in flaming piles ascend,
And girdled trees their wintry arms extend;
Your mighty oxen drag the logs away,
And give the long-hid surface to the day:
While fields of richest grain and pasture good
Shall wave where Indians strayed and forests stood;
And as you sweat the rustling sheaves among,
Th'adjoining woods shall echo to your song.
These are the scenes of truest joys below,
From these, health, peace, and independence flow;
Blest with the purest air, and richest soil,
What generous harvests recompense your toil!
Here no proud lordling lifts his haughty crest,
No tinsel'd scoundrel tramples the distrest,
No thief in black, demands his tenth in sheaves,
But man from God abundantly receives.
In rustic dress you range the echoing wood,
Health makes you gay, and simple manners good.
Society's best joys your bosoms know,
And Plenty's smiling cup, without its woe;

158

Farewell, good friends! be Virtue still your guide,
Still scorn injustice, cruelty, and pride.
Whate'er be your pursuits, whate'er your care,
Let temperance, peace, and industry be there;
From these, want, pain, and care, and ruin fly,
And half the ills that teach mankind to sigh.
Fear not success! though one attempt should fail,
Fate yields when strength and constancy assail;
Store up your harvests, sow your Winter grain,
Prepare your troughs the maple's juice to drain;
Then, when the wintry North outrageous blows,
And nought is seen but one wide waste of snows,
Ascend the fleeting sleigh, and like the wind,
Scour o'er the hills, and leave the woods behind;
Along the drifted swamps and mountains high,
O'er rocks and narrows

These are passes on the high steep sides of the mountain overhanging the Susquehanna, and, in some places, will not admit more than one person abreast.

make your horses fly;

Shoot o'er the Susquehanna's frozen face,
And bleak Wyoming's lofty hills retrace;
Nor let the hunter's hut, or venison stale,
Or his loved bottle, or his wond'rous tale
Of deer and bear, your lingering steeds detain,
But swift descend and seek the southern plain;
There where the clouds of Philadelphia rise,
And Gray's flat bridge across the Schuylkill lies;
There shall your grateful friends with choicest store,
And hearts o'erflowing welcome you once more;
There friendship's purest joys will crown the whole,
“The feast of reason and the flow of soul.”’
Our boat now ready and our baggage stored,
Provisions, mast, and oars and sails aboard;
With three loud cheers that echoed from the steep,
We launched our skiff ‘Niagara’ to the deep;
The shores recede—the oars resounding play,
Fleet through the unruffled flood we scour away;
Till evening sweet suspends her starry veil,
And all around her sparkling orbs prevail;

159

There high in front the Bear's bright splendours glow,
His answering glories gild the deep below;
Profound and vast, and, as we onward glide,
Dance on the bosom of the dimpling tide.
Lone Night and listening Silence seem to sleep
On the smooth surface of the glistening deep;
Save where the ducks in rising thousands soar,
Leaving the dark expanse with lengthened roar,
That like a cataract bursts from legions near,
And dies in distance on the vacant ear;
Meantime young Duncan, as the oar he plies,
With voice melodious bids the song arise,
The theme, Columbia, her sublime increase:
‘Blest land of freedom, happiness, and peace:
Far, far, removed from Europe's murderous scene,
A wide, a friendly waste of waves between;
Where strangers driven by tyranny to roam,
Still find a nobler and a happier home:
Hail, blessed asylum! happy country, hail!
O'er thee may truth, but never foe, prevail.’
From neighbouring shores, and cliffs that o'er them rise,
The listening spirit of the Lake replies,
And in responses sweet and accents plain,
Repeats each period of th'inspiring strain.
Now like dull stars the lighted bridge

This bridge extends across the lake, which at this place is about a mile in width. It is built of wood, is laid on two hundred and fifteen trestles, each consisting of three posts, connected by girths and braces. The posts are sunk to hard gravel, which is generally about thirty feet from the surface.—The expense was twenty thousand dollars.

appears

Beneath it soon our little vessel steers,
Where, snugly moored, we passed away the night,
And weighed next morning by the peep of light:
Here the clear Lake contracts its straightened floods,
And winds a deepened stream, through level woods;
In vain our tow'ring mast for soundings tries,
Beyond its utmost depths the bottom lies;
Yet so transparent its pure waters flow,
We marked the smallest leaf that lay below.
Ducks, whistling past, like meteors fill the air,
Our fatal guns pursue them deadly there;

160

Glanced from the eye the thundering tubes rebound,
Fluttering they fall, and flap, and scream around.
Here from the shore, low marshes wide expand,
Where bare and bleak the little salt-works stand;
There numerous pits their briny treasures yield,
And pumps and tunnels checker all the field;
Whether old Neptune these blest springs supplies,
Or deep below the massy substance lies,
Let idlers guess; while nobler souls revere
The all-providing Power who raised them here.
Beneath mild sunshine as we onward glide,
Flat moss-clad forests rise on either side;
High 'midst the leafless multitude is seen
The dark majestic pine in deepest green;
The snow-white sycamores that love to drink
The passing stream and skirt the river's brink,
Wide o'er the flood their arms capacious throw,
To meet their softened forms that lie below.
Still files of ducks in streaming thousands pour,
At every bend their rising torrents roar;
Till near Musquito Point their flocks decrease,
Where night o'ertook us and we moored in peace.
High rose its banks, and on its rugged height,
A small log-hovel shone with glimmering light;
Here one lone woman and a boy we found;
The trapper absent on his usual round,
On board his skiff had sailed, six days ago,
To try his luck some twenty miles below.
This solitary hut, small, cheerless, rude,
Amidst vast swamps and wildernesses stood;
Where nightly horrors banished oft repose,
Such savage cries from wolves and panthers rose;
Even round the bolted door the woman said,
At midnight frequent she could hear their tread.
The fire blazed bright; around us we surveyed
The pendent furs with which it was arrayed;

161

A sacred horse-shoe, guardian of the whole,—
Terror of spirits profane, and witches foul,
Dread, powerful talisman, 'gainst imps unknown:—
Nailed o'er the door in silent mystery shone.
Just as the dame her glowing hearth had cleared,
The ragged owner of the hut appeared;
Laden with skins, his traps around him slung,
Two dead racoons across his shoulders hung,
Musk-rats and 'possums in each hand he bore,
A large brown otter trailed along the floor;
And as he soused them down with surly gloom,
The skunk's

The reader is not to imagine that this animal formed part of our trapper's game. It is never seen in this particular part of the country; and the trappers take advantage of this circumstance to circumvent their prey. In the lower parts of the State where this animal is abundant, there are people who collect the liquor with which nature has supplied it for its defence. This is put into small vials, sealed, placed mouth downwards in a pot of earth, and sold to the trappers. A drop or two of this precious aroma is put on or near the steel traps after they are set, and the strange and extraordinary odour is said to decoy other animals to the spot. Our landlord himself being furnished with a bottle of this essence of skunk, and his traps profusely saturated with the same, produced the effect alluded to.

abhorr'd effluvia filled the room.

‘Friends, how d'ye do? Well, wife, how come you on?
How fare the calves?’ ‘Why, three of them are gone!’
‘Three! Damn these wolves! they'll eat up house and hall!
And have they killed the sheep?’ ‘They have.’—‘What, all?’
‘Yes, all.’ . . ‘I thought it would be so,
Well, now they're at the devil, let them go.’
So said, he whets his knife to skin his store,
While heaps of red raw carrion fill the floor.
As morning dawned, our little skiff we trimmed,
And through the misty flood with vigour skimmed:
Now gliding smooth, we hail with songs the morn,
Now down white boiling breakers headlong borne;
Again enclosed, the gray woods round us rise,
We pass where Cross Lake green and stagnant lies;
And mark the snakes, amid their watery way
With heads erect, our dipping oars survey.
Dead lie the lonely woods, and silent shore,
As Nature slept and mankind were no more.
How drear! how desolate to ear and eye!
What awful solitudes around us lie!
Sad were his fate, too dreadfully severe,
For life condemned to linger hopeless here;
From such lone thoughts of gloomy exiled woe,
All human ties for ever to forego;

162

The heart shrinks back, dejected and dismayed,
And owns that man for social joy was made.
Yet still, whate'er our doubtful hearts may say,
Even Nature's self to habit will give way;
And these vast solitudes, so deep and drear,
As more frequented might become more dear.
On yonder island, opening by degrees,
Behold the blue smoke mounting through the trees;
There, by his fire, 'mid sheltering brush obscured,
His bark-canoe along the margin moored;
With lank jet locks that half his face conceal,
The Indian hunter eats his morning meal.
Stakes rudely reared, his little pot suspend,
Amid the smoke his busy partners bend;
Beyond, sly peeping, fearful to be seen,
Two copper chubs their favourite shell-barks glean.
Another night another hut supplies,—
In half-an-hour the crazy fabrics rise;
The roof with bark, the floor with spruce bespread,
The stakes around with skins and venison clad;
At our approach Suspicion lours his eye,
That scarce regards us gliding swiftly by:
His life how simple, and his wants how few!
A blanket, leggins, rifle and canoe,
Knife, hatchet, moccasins,—not much beside,
And all beyond to him is empty pride.
O'er these lone swamps the Muse impatient flies,
Where mightier scenes and nobler prospects rise;
Nor stoops in dull rehearsal to detail
Each roaring rapid and each adverse gale;
What vagrant tribes, what islands met our view,
How down Oswego's foaming Falls we flew;
Now plunging in our sinking bark to save,
Now headlong hurried down th'outrageous wave;
How through the clear still flood, with sounding oars,
We swept, and hailed with songs the echoing shores;

163

These had their pleasures, and perhaps their fears;
But terrors fly when daring Courage steers.
A thousand toils, a thousand dangers past,
The long-expected Lake appears at last,
Seen through the trees, like Ocean's boundless blue,
Huzza! huzza! Ontario is in view!
With flying hats we hail the glorious spot,
And every care and every fear's forgot.
So, when of old, we crossed th'Atlantic waves,
And left a land of despots and of slaves,
With equal joy Columbia's shores we spyed,
And gave our cares and sorrows to the tide.
Here, ere we launch the boundless deep along,
Surrounding scenes demand their share of song.
Mark, yon bleak hill, where rolling billows break,
Just where the river joins the spacious Lake;
High on its brow, deserted and forlorn,
Its bastions levelled, and its buildings torn,
Stands Fort Oswego; there the winds that blow
Howl to the restless surge that groans below;
There, the lone sentry walked his round, or stood
To view the sea-fowl coursing o'er the flood;
'Midst Night's deep gloom, shrunk at the panther's howl,
And heard a foe in every whooping owl:
Blest times for soldiers! times, alas, not near,
When foes like these are all they have to fear;
When man to man will mutual justice yield,
And wolves and panthers only stain the field.
Those straggling huts that on the left appear,
Where boats and ships their crowded masts uprear,
Where fence, or field, or cultured garden green,
Or blessèd plough, or spade was never seen,
Is old Oswego; once renowned in trade,
Where numerous tribes their annual visits paid,
From distant wilds—the beaver's rich retreat,—
For one whole moon they trudged with weary feet,

164

Piled their rich furs within the crowded store,
Replaced their packs, and plodded back for more;
But time and war have banished all their trains,
And nought but potash, salt, and rum remains.
The boisterous boatman, drunk but twice a day,
Begs of the landlord, but forgets to pay;
Pledges his salt, a cask for every quart,
Pleased thus for poison with his pay to part.
From morn to night here Noise and Riot reign,
From night to morn 'tis noise and roar again.
Around us now Ontario's ocean lay,
Rough rose its billows, crowned with foaming spray;
The grim north-east in roaring fury blew,
And our frail bark, deep-dashing laboured through;
Our blanket sail, and feeble sapling mast,
Drank the rough waves and quivered in the blast.
A friendly sloop for Queenstown

This place lies on the Canada side of the Niagara river, seven miles below the Falls.

harbour bound,

While night's foul hurricanes were gathering round,
Beheld our danger, saw our numbers few,
And for our boat received its willing crew;
Both safe on board, they trim their thundering sail,
The boom and main-sheet bending to the gale.
Hard by the helm th'experienced master stood,
And, far to windward, eyed the whitening flood;
Saw in the east the coming tempest

These storms are very frequent on this lake; and the want of sea-room is also dangerous. A few days previous to our arrival at Oswego, a British packet called the ‘Speedy,’ with the judge advocate on board, the judges, witnesses, and an Indian prisoner, and others to the amount of twenty or thirty persons, foundered in a violent gale, and every soul perished. No part of the vessel was afterwards found except the pump, which we picked up, and carried to Queenstown.

lour,

On Night's black wings impetuous to devour!
Her roaring bow the boiling spray divides,
Two foaming torrents sweep along the sides;
Reef after reef retrench the straining sail,
And the racked vessel staggers in the gale.
Now up th'outrageous waves' high steep we go,
Now plunge down headlong in the gulf below;
Slow-rising, shivering through tempestuous clouds,
That howled like demons in the whizzing shrouds,
Down in the cabin by the uproar driven,
Heedless of all the warring winds of heaven,

165

Sick, groaning, speechless and unfit to pray,
Our three pale foresters inglorious lay;
Groan answered groan, while at each desperate throe
The deep bilge-water churned and roared below.
Sad night of sickness, tumult, fears and hopes,
Of roaring surges, and of rattling ropes;
Heart-rending retchings, tossings to and fro,
And all the horrors land-born lubbers know.
At length the morn arose, the storm withdrew,
And fair the breeze with steady vigour blew.
First upon deck, our Bard, uncheered with sleep,
Gazed silent round upon the shoreless deep;
From whose vast bosom, where the orient glows,
The glorious sun in reddening pomp arose.
The cold camboose with blazing faggots filled,
And, though in culinary lore unskilled,
Fried the nice venison, well with onions stored,
And summoned Leech and Duncan to the board;
Slow from the cabin mount the staggering pair,
Pale their chang'd cheeks, and wild their haggard air:
So look two ghosts that Tyburn's tree attend,
When the last signal calls them to ascend.
Soon as the sav'ry steams their nostrils gain,
They sicken, heave, and stagger down again.
Bold-hearted Duncan! who'd have dreamt to see
This pale sea-spectre fix her fangs on thee?
On thee, who dauntless down the torrent's course,
'Midst rocks and foam, defied its roaring force;
Still first the dangers of the chase to share,
To pierce the panther, or o'erwhelm the bear;
And at the joyous feast that crowned the whole,
With mirth and songs to elevate each soul.
‘Cheer, comrades, cheer! deliverance is at hand!
Lo! on the lee-bow lies the hazy land!’
Loud hailed the Bard. At once, in cheerful mood,
Firm upon deck the active Duncan stood;

166

The wide expanse with freshened looks he eyed,
And ‘Who's afraid?’ in sportive humour cried.
Meantime the gale our flying vessel bore,
On wings of wind, full thirteen knots an hour;
And just as day its closing light withdrew,
Niagara's lighthouse opened on our view.
Its star-like radiance shone with steady ray,—
Like Venus lingering in the rear of day.
By slow degrees the sinking breezes die,
And on the smooth, still flood, we logging lie.
Roused by the morning and the neighbouring drum,
Swift upon deck with eager eyes we come;
There, high in air, (the fortress full in view)
Our star-crowned stripes in waving triumph flew:
Hail, sacred flag! to sons of Freedom dear,
Thy country's valour reared thine honours here;
Eternal blessings crown her rich increase,
Her Bands of Union and her Stars of Peace.
Before us now the opening river pours,
Through gradual windings and projecting shores;
Smooth sloops the green where Newark's village lies,
There, o'er their fort, the British ensign flies.
‘From whence?’ they hail; we shout with trumpet's sound
‘From Fort Oswego; up to Queenstown bound.’
‘What news?’ ‘The Speedy's pump on board we bear,
The sole found fragment of that sad affair.’
Th'increasing distance drowns their faint reply,
And up the adverse stream we foaming fly.
Now full in front the Ridge

This singular ridge commences about the head of Lake Ontario, and, running in an easterly direction, loses itself in the country towards the Seneca Lake. The plain, extending from its base northwardly to the shores of the lake, is between two and three hundred feet lower than that extending from its top, south, to Lake Erie.

its height uprears,

Its high, grim gap, like some vast cave appears;
Thick wheel strong eddies, marked with whirling foam,
As from this gloomy chasm they hurrying come;
Low at its foot, with stores and gardens gay,
Close, snugly sheltered, little Queenstown lay.
Here Night once more her shadows o'er us threw,
And, safely moored, we bid our bark adieu.

167

Long seemed the night; impatient of repose,
By day's first dawn delighted we arose;
A day replete with scenes sublime and new
About to burst on our astonished view.
Sweet rose the morning, silent and serene,
No vagrant cloud, or stirring leaf was seen;
The sun's warm beams with dazzling radiance glow,
And glittering dance upon the flood below.
Soon full equipt the towering Ridge we scale,
Thence, gazing back, a boundless prospect hail.
Far in the east Ontario's waters spread,
Vast as the Ocean in his sky-bound bed.
Bright through the parted plain that lay between,
Niagara's deep majestic flood was seen;
The right a wilderness of woods displayed,
Fields, orchards, woods, were on the left arrayed.
There, near the Lake's green shore, above the flood,
The tall, white light-house like a column stood.
O'er each grim fort, high waving to the view,
Columbia's stars and Britain's crosses, flew,
Thus two stern champions watch each other's eye,
And mark each movement, ready to let fly.
Up to the Ridge's top, high winding led,
There on a flat, dry plain, we gaily tread;
And stop, and list, with throbbing hearts to hear
The long expected cataract meet the ear;
But list in vain. Though five short miles ahead.
All sound was hushed and every whisper dead.
‘'Tis strange,’

This will appear almost incredible to those who have heard it asserted that the noise of the cataract is frequently heard at the distance of forty miles. Both these facts, however, are actually true, and depend entirely on the state of the atmosphere, and current of the air.

said Duncan, ‘here the sound might reach.’

‘'Tis all an April errand,’ answered Leech.
‘Men to make books a thousand tales devise,
And nineteen-twentieths are a pack of lies.
Here, three long weeks by storms and famines beat,
With sore-bruised backs, and lame and blistered feet;
Here nameless hardships, griefs, and miseries past,
We find some mill-dam for our pains at last.

168

Once safe at home, kick'd, cudgell'd let me be,
If e'er bookmaker make a fool of me.’
He spoke and groaned: for heedless of his woe,
A stubborn stump assailed his corny toe;
Stunned with the stroke, he grinned and hopped around,
While peals of mirth and laughter loud resound.
Heavy and slow, increasing on the ear,
Deep through the woods a rising storm we hear;
Th'approaching gust still loud and louder grows,
As when the strong north-east resistless blows;
Or black tornado, rushing through the wood,
Alarms the affrighted swains with uproar rude.
Yet the blue heavens displayed their clearest sky,
And dead below the silent forests lie;
And not a breath the slightest leaf assailed,
But all around tranquility prevailed.
‘What noise is that?’ we ask, with anxious mien,
A dull salt-driver passing with his team.
‘Noise! noise!—why nothing that I hear or see,
But N'agra falls—Pray, whereabouts live ye?’
All looked amazed! yet not untouched with fear,
Like those who first the battle's thunders hear,
Till Duncan said, with grave satiric glee,
‘Lord, what a monstrous mill-dam that must be!’
Leech blushed assent, while as we nearer drew,
The loudening roar more harsh and heavy grew.
Awe-struck sensations now all speech represt,
And expectation throbbed in every breast.
Now from the woods, emerging into day,
Before us fields and farms and orchards lay;
The sloping hills a hollow vale disclose,
Whence hurrying clouds

This train of black clouds extends along the heavens in the direction in which the wind blows, as far as the eye can reach, forming a very striking and majestic appearance.

of boiling smoke arose,

Till in one congregated column thrown,
On whose bright side a glorious rainbow shone;
High in the heavens it reared its towering head,
And o'er the day its train gigantic led:

169

Beyond its base, there like a wall of foam,
Here in a circling gulf unbroken thrown,
With uproar hideous, first the Falls appear,
The stunning tumult thundering on the ear.
Above, below, where'er the astonished eye
Turns to behold, new-opening wonders lie,
Till to a steep's high brow, unconscious brought,
Lost to all other care of sense or thought,
There the broad river like a lake outspread,
The islands, rapids, falls, in grandeur dread;
The heaps of boiling foam, the ascending spray,
The gulf profound, where dazzling rainbows play;
This great o'erwhelming work of awful Time,
In all its dread magnificence sublime,
Rose on our view; amid a crashing roar,
That bade us kneel and Time's great God adore.
As when o'er tracks immense of desert drear,
Through dangerous nations, and 'midst toils severe;
Day after day condemned a war to wage
With thirst and hunger, men and lions' rage,
Noon's burning heat, and night's distressing cold,
Arabian pilgrims Mecca's walls behold:—
Those holy walls, whose sacred roof contains
Mahomet's tomb—their prophet's blest remains;
Past sufferings vanish, every sigh's supprest,
A flood of rapture rises in each breast;
All hearts confess an awful joy serene,
And humbly bow before the glorious scene.—
Such were our raptures, such the holy awe
That swell'd our hearts at all we heard and saw;
Fixed to the rock, like monuments we stood
On its flat face, above the outrageous flood;
There, while our eyes the amazing whole explored,
The deep loud roar our loudest voice devoured.
High o'er the watery uproar, silent seen,
Sailing sedate, in majesty serene,

170

Now 'midst the pillared spray sublimely lost,
And now, emerging, down the rapids tost,
Swept the gray eagles; gazing calm and slow,
On all the horrors of the gulf below;
Intent, alone, to sate themselves with blood,
From the torn victims of the raging flood.
Whate'er the weather, or whate'er the gale,
Here ceaseless haze and flying rains prevail;
Down bend the boughs with weight of moisture borne,
Each bush, each tree, the dazzling drops adorn;
Save when deep Winter's fiercest rigours blow,
Then falls the whirling spray in silent snow;
While the dew-drops to icicles are changed,
In glittering pendent parallels arranged.
Then, too, amid the Falls, stupendous rise
Bright icy pillars of prodigious size!
As if some pile immense of Greece or Rome,
Were deep engulfed within their hideous womb.
Drenched to the skin, our baggage down we throw,
Fixed to descend into the gulf below;
Amid whose wreck, and from whose depths profound,
Some new resource for wonder might be found;
Along the dreadful verge we cautious steered,
Till the tall ladder's

This ladder was fixed in an almost perpendicular position; not leaning on the brink, but fastened to a projecting root, in such a manner that, on descending, the steep was on our right hand and a tremendous abyss of 150 feet deep presented itself before us.

tottering top appeared;

A tree's projecting root its weight sustains,
The dread abyss wheels round our giddy brains.
Leech, like a bird, with the whole gulf in view,
Down its slight slippery bars regardless flew!
The Bard came after, not devoid of fear,
And Duncan, gay and laughing, closed the rear;
The cumb'rous weight its bending sides assails,
It yields! it cracks! its whole foundation fails!
Fear, swift as light, the rocks' grim pavement stains
With mangled limbs, and blood, and spattered brains;
But firm above the roots remained, though rude,
And safe below on Chaos' shores we stood.

171

Genius of song—Great Source of light and day,
How shall the Muse this dreadful place pourtray?
Where, all around, tremendous rocks

These rocks being worn smooth by the perpetual action of the water, and lying upon a deep declivity, composed of loose masses of smaller ones, were displaced at every pressure of the foot, so that masses larger than milestones were easily launched down with a single kick, rendering it highly dangerous for more than one person to pass abreast.

were spread,

That from our feet in headlong fury fled;
Rocks that great Ajax, with his hundreds more,
Could scarce have moved one hairbreadth from the shore;
Where logs, and boards, and trees of reverend age,
Beat to a pulp amid the torrent's rage;
Fragments of boats, oars, carcasses unclean,
Of what had bears, deer, fowls, and fishes been,
Lay in such uproar, 'midst such clamour drown'd,
That death and ruin seemed to reign around.
High in our front th'outrageous river roared,
And in three separate falls stupendous poured;
First, slow Fort Slusher's

The height of this fall is said to be 154 feet. The current above is much slower than in any other part of the river near the Falls, and the water drops here almost perpendicularly, presenting the appearance of an immense white curtain of foam.

, down was seen to roam

In one vast living sheet of glittering foam;
On its south side a little islet towers,
There one small patch o'er broken fragments pours:
Goat-Island next, with oaks and cedars crown'd,
Its shelving base with dwarfish shrubbery bound;
Along the brink a rocky front extends
Four hundred yards, and at the Horse-shoe

These Falls are 12 or 14 feet lower than those of Fort Slusher on the American side; and the main body of the river rushes over at this place with indescribable violence and uproar.

ends.

There the main forces of the river pour,
There, fierce above, the rushing Rapids roar!
The mighty wat'ry mass, resistless grown,
Green down the impending brink unbroken thrown,
Whelmed amidst dazzling hills of boiling spray,
In raging, deafening torrents roar away.
One last grand object

The Great Pitch. Of the general appearance of this tremendous scene I find it altogether impossible for me to give any adequate conception.

yet remained unviewed:

Thither we crawl, o'er monstrous fragments rude,
Struggling o'er caverns deep; now prostrate thrown,
Now up wet slippery masses clambering on;
Below, in foam, the raging rapids sweep,
Above, dark hollowed hangs the enormous steep,
Scooped out immense; resounding, gloomy, bare,
Its giddy verge projected high in air;

172

There such a scene of rage and uproar new,
In awful grandeur burst upon our view;
As seized at once all power of speech away,
And filled our souls with terror and dismay.
Great God of Nature! whose bless'd sun and showers
Called into action these tremendous powers;
Where shall my tongue fit force of language find
To speak the dread sensations of the mind,
When o'er the impending brink, in bounding sweep,
The eye pursued this deluge to the deep;
Saw its wild torrents undulating pour
From heaven to earth with deafening, crashing roar;
Dashed in the wild and torn abyss below,
'Midst dazzling foam and whirling storms of snow;
While the whole monstrous mass, and country round,
Shook as with horror

This is literary true. In the house where we lodged, which is more than half-a-mile from the Falls, the vibration of a fork, stuck in a broad position, were plainly shewable across the room.

at the o'erwhelming sound.

Within this concave vast, dark, frowning, deep,
Eternal rains and howling whirlwinds sweep;
The slippery rocks, at every faithless tread,
Threaten to whelm us headlong to the dead;
Our Bard and pilot, curious to survey,
Behind this sheet what unknown wonders lay,
Resolved the dangers of th'attempt to share,
And all its terrors and its storms to dare;
So, hand in hand, with firm yet cautious pace,
Along the gloom they grope this dreary space;
'Midst rushing winds, descending deep, they gain
Behind th'o'erhanging horrors of the scene;
There dark, tempestuous, howling regions lie,
And whirling floods of dashing waters fly.
At once of sight deprived, of sense and breath,
Staggering amidst this caverned porch of death,
One moment more had swept them in the waves
To the most horrible of human graves;
But danger, here, to desperate force gave way,
And drove them, drenched and gasping out to day.

173

The glooms of evening now began to close,
O'er heaps of rocks our homeward steps we chose;
And one by one the infernal ladder scaled,
While Night's grim darkness deep around prevailed;
Safe on the fearful brink, we search around,
And, glimmering near, a light and lodgings found;
There full of all the wonders of the day
In vain our bed our weary heads we lay;
Still loud, without, a mighty tempest heaves;
Still the calm air our terror undeceives,
And when some short and broken slumbers came,
Still round us roaring swept th'outrageous stream;
Whelmed in the deep we sunk, engulfed, forlorn,
Or down the dreadful Rapids helpless borne;
Groaning we start! and at the loudening war,
Ask our bewildered senses where we are.
At length with watching and with toil opprest,
The thundering tumult rocked us into rest.