Washington Irving. 
TN a wild, tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green, 
Where Nature had fashioned a soft, sylvan scene, 
The retreat of the ringdove, the haunt of the deer, 
Passaic in silence rolled gentle and clear. 
No grandeur of prospect astonished the sight, 
O -s •» 
No abruptness sublime mingled awe with delight; 
Here the wild flow’ret blossomed, the elm proudly waved, 
And pure was the current the green bank that laved. 
But the Spirit that ruled o’er the thick-tangled wood, 
And deep in its gloom fixed his murky abode, 
Who loved the wild scene that the whirlwinds deform, 
And gloried in thunder, and lightning, and storm ; 
All flushed from the tumult of battle he came, 
Where the red men encountered the children of flame, 
While the noise of the war-whoop still rang in his ears, 
And the fresh bleeding scalp as a trophy he bears: 
