EEP thoughts o'ershade my spirit while I gaze
Upon the blue depths of thy mighty breast;
Thy glassy face is bright with sunset rays,
And thy far-stretching waters are at rest,
Save the small wave that on thy margin plays,
Lifting to summer airs its flashing crest:
While the fleet hues across thy surface driven,
Mingle afar in the embrace of heaven.
Thy smile is glorious when the morning's spring
Gives half its glowing beauty to the deep;
When the dusk swallow dips his drooping wing,
And the gay winds that o'er thy bosom sweep
Tribute from dewy woods and violets bring,
Thy restless billows in their gifts to steep.
Thou 'rt beautiful when evening moonbeams shine,
And the soft hour of night and stars is thine.
Thou hast thy tempests, too; the lightning's home
Is near thee, though unseen; thy peaceful shore,
When storms have lashed these waters into foam,
Echoes full oft the pealing thunder's roar.
Thou hast dark trophies: the unhonored tomb
Of those now sought and wept on earth no more :
Full many a goodly form, the loved and brave,
Lies whelmed and still beneath thy sullen wave.
The world was young with thee: this swelling flood
As proudly swelled, as purely met the sky,
When sound of life roused not the ancient wood,
Save the wild eagle's scream, or panther's cry.
Here on this verdant bank the savage stood,
And shook his dart and battle-axe on high,
While hues of slaughter tinged thy billows blue,
As deeper and more close the conflict grew.
Here, too, at early morn, the hunter's song
Was heard from wooded isle and grassy glade ;
And here, at eve, these clustered bowers among,
The low, sweet carol of the Indian maid,
Chiding the slumbering breeze and shadows long,
That kept her lingering lover from the shade,
While, scarcely seen, thy willing waters o'er,
Sped the light bark that bore him to the shore.
Those scenes are past. The spirit of changing years
Has breathed on all around, save thee alone.
More faintly the receding woodland hears
Thy voice, once full and joyless as its own.
Nations have gone from earth, nor trace appears
To tell their tale, - forgotten or unknown.
Yet here, unchanged, untamed, thy waters lie,
Azure, and clear, and boundless as the sky.
HE moon goes lightly up her thronging way, And shadowy things are brightening into day; And cliff and shrub and bank and tree and stone Now move upon the eye, and now are gone. A dazzling tapestry is hung around, A gorgeous carpeting bestrews the ground; The willows glitter in the passing beam, And shake their tangling lustres o'er the stream; And all the full rich foliage of the shore Seems with a quick enchantment frosted o'er, And dances at the faintest breath of night, And trembles like a plume of spangles in the light!
This dark cool wave is bluer than the deep,
Where sailors, children of the tempest, sleep;
And dropped with lights as pure, as still, as those
The wide-drawn hangings of the skies disclose,
Far lovelier than the dim and broken ray,
That. Ocean's flashing surges send astray.
This is the mirror of dim Solitude,
On which unholy things may ne'er intrude;
That frowns and ruffles when the clouds appear,
Refusing to reflect their shapes of fear.
Ontario's deeps are spread to multiply
But sunshine, stars, the moon, and clear-blue sky.
No pirate barque was ever seen to ride,
With blood-red streamer, chasing o'er that tide;
Till late, no bugle o'er those waters sang
With aught but huntsman's orisons, that rang
Their clear, exulting, bold, triumphant strain,
Till all the mountain echoes laughed again;
Till caverns, depths, and hills would all reply,
And heaven's blue dome ring out the sprightly melody.
Oriskany, N. Y.
BATTLE OF ORISKANY.
S men who fight for home and child and wife,
As men oblivious of life
The yeomen of the Valley fought that day,
Throughout thy fierce and deadly fray,
From rock and tree and clump of twisted brush
The hissing gusts of battle rush,
Hot-breathed and horrible!
The roar, the smoke, like mist on stormy seas,
Sweep through thy splintered trees,
Hard-fought Oriskany.
Heroes are born in such a chosen hour;
From common men they rise, and tower,
Like thee, brave Herkimer!
Who wounded, steedless, still beside the beech
Cheered on thy men, with sword and speech,
In grim Oriskany.
But ere the sun went toward the tardy night,
The Valley then beheld the light
Of freedom's victory;
And wooded Tryon snatched from British arms
The empire of a million farms
On bright Oriskany.
The guns of Stanwix thunder to the skies;
The rescued wilderness replies ;
Forth dash the garrison!
And routed Tories, with their savage aids,
Sink reddening through the sullied shades
From lost Oriskany.
HAUNTED lake, from out whose silver fountains
The mighty Susquehanna takes its rise;
O haunted lake, among the pine-clad mountains,
Forever smiling upward to the skies,
Thrice blest art thou in every curling wavelet,
In every floating water-lily sweet, -
From the old Lion at thy northern boundary,
To fair Mount Vision sleeping at thy feet.
A master's hand hath painted all thy beauties;
A master's mind hath peopled all thy shore
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