Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.
By To a Beautiful LakeHenry Pickering (17811838)
R
I saw upon thy marge a wild-eyed race,
And, startled, heard the yell
That echoed round thy shores!
Which Fancy holds to view, I fain would blend
The murmur of thy waves,
And warblings of my lute.
And stainless breast, the heavens with wonder view
As beautiful a heaven,
As tranquil and serene:
Hills piled on hills, seem laughing in thy wave,
And groves, inverted, nod
To like majestic groves.
Impend—no cloud-tipt mountains, as with wall
Insuperable, fence
Thee from the northern blast,—
And ruffian winter’s rudest breath defy;
Fiercely he sweeps along,
But may not chain thy wave.
Thou seest new beauties deck thy soft domain;
And when from summer’s gaze
The earth dejected shrinks,
While pleased, anon, with Autumn’s rainbow hues
And mournful shell, thou bidd’st
Thy waves wild music make.
Leads up the effulgent day, and liquid pearls
Are on the flowers, and thou
In snowy mist art wrapp’d,—
The sun, like a young deity look forth,
And, with a glance, thy face
At once again unveil!
Are gathering round his couch, and his last ray
Descending, seems to melt
In thy unruffled flood,—
And wish’d that on my breast a heavenly gleam
Might fall, and thus within
My soul as softly sink!
’T is when the moon from out the silvery east
In chasten’d splendor beams,—
And sheds o’er thee, and o’er
A shadowy grandeur then invests the scene,
While through the willing mind
A pleasing sadness steals.
To sing of absent charms? Thou calmly sleep’st
Beneath thy circling hills,
While I am tempest-tost!
Shall long upon thy varied beauties gaze,
And young glad beings too
Delight in thee to lave:
Her proudest domes; and, emulous of fame,
Bards, yet unborn, shall chant
In lofty verse thy praise.