THE FALLS OF THE PASSAIC. 
Witl. a glance of disgust he the landscape surveyed, 
With its fragrant wild flowers, its wide waving shade :— 
Where Passaic meanders through margins of green, 
So transparent its waters, its surface serene. 
He rived the green hills, the wild woods he laid low; 
He taught the pure streams in rough channels to flow ; 
He rent the rude rock, the steep precipice gave, 
And hurled down the chasm the thundering wave. 
Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse of time; 
Cultivation has softened those features sublime ; 
The axe of the white man has lightened the shade, 
And dispelled the deep gloom of the the thicketed glade. 
But the stranger still gazes, with wondering eye, 
On the rocks rudely torn, and groves mounted on high ; 
Still loves on the cliff’s dizzy borders to roam, 
Where the torrent leaps headlong, embosomed in foam. 






















