And to the elements did stand In nearer kindred than our race. In many a storm has been his path; But met them, and defied their wrath. Then they were kind-the forests here, A tribute to the net and spear Of the red ruler of the shade. A noble race! but they are gone, With their old forests wide and deep, Fields where their generations sleep. Great Barrington, 1827. "United States Review," August, 1827. A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON. COOL shades and dews are round my way, COOL And silence of the early day; Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed, Glitters the mighty Hudson spread, From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall; And o'er the clear still water swells The music of the Sabbath bells. All, save this little nook of land, Seems a blue void, above, below, Through which the white clouds come and go; And from the green world's farthest steep I gaze into the airy deep. Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. VOL. I.-13 The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. River! in this still hour thou hast "Talisman," 1828. THE HURRICANE. ORD of the winds! I feel thee nigh, L° I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane ! And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales, Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails; Silent and slow, and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along, While the world below, dismayed and dumb, They darken fast; and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, A beam that touches, with hues of death, To its covert glides the silent bird, While the hurricane's distant voice is heard And the forests hear and answer the sound. He is come! he is come! do ye not behold How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; And fold at length, in their dark embrace, Darker-still darker! the whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air: And hark to the crashing, long and loud, Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud! You may trace its path by the flashes that start From the rapid wheels where'er they dart, As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, And flood the skies with a lurid glow. What roar is that?-'tis the rain that breaks In torrents away from the airy lakes, |