108 COTEHELE. 



Till all of him is lost except the sound 



Of his exulting minstrelsy, it pours 



Its influence on the soul, although the source 



Is unapparent : thus around the mind 



Do joyful things, long vanished from our view. 



Weave their sweet memories. 



From the glowing east 

 A flood of sunlight gushes o'er the vale 

 And the white clouds of mist that all night long 

 Slept in its bosom from their rest arise 

 And soaring upwards melt like dreams away ; 

 The tranquil river, like a silver band 

 Twined o'er reposing Nature's dewy breast, 

 Is seen with silent, but unceasing, flow 

 Wending along through meadow, lawn and glen 

 With its unfailing tribute to the main : 

 Already on its surface the white sail, 

 Seen like a swan far off*, awaits the breeze. 

 And the lithe oar with music in its play 

 Flings o'er the mirrored waters flashing foam. 



Delightful river, soul-inspiring scene, 

 Land of our home ! Although no snow-capped hills. 

 Of Alpine frame or Apalachian mould, 

 Sublime in desolation bound the view ; 

 Though forest shades of limitless extent 

 Display no vastness here ; though Glacier heights, 

 With burnished pinnacles and crystal cliffs. 

 Crown not Devonia's landscape ; though her vale? 

 Can boast no olive nor nectareous grape, 

 Yet ye can match them not, for quiet joy. 

 For tranquil beauty, for restoring air, 

 For spirit-soothing prospects, in the climes 

 Of hoar Columbia's lake and mountain land, 

 Helvetia girt with old magnificence 

 Or classical Ansonia. Summer breathes 

 Here with a genial power and Autumn brings 

 No pestilent mal'aria which might smile 

 And slay : the peasant builds his cheerful cot 

 Deep in the lowest dell nor fears the crush 

 \ Of Avalanche destruction, nor the wreck 

 Of Cataracts unloosed along the hills. 



