Stream of mij fathers! srveetly still. 

 The sunset ra^s thy valley fill; 

 Poured slantwise doivn the long defile. 

 Wave, tvood and spire beneath them smile. 

 I see the winding Poworo fold 

 The green hill in its belt of gold. 

 And following down its wavy line. 

 Its sparkling waters blend with thine. 



John Greenleaf Whittier, 



"The Merrimack" 



97 



