As twilight darkens into night, Beyond, the sinuous channel wends Hurled by the flood's tremendous might, Piles the opposing precipice, And every fragment swells the height; Hour after hour uprears the wall, Until a barrier huge and tall Breasts the wild waves that vain upswell They bathe the alder on the verge, Till, curbed thus in its headlong flight, The river, turning on its track, Rolls its broad-spreading volumes back. The raftman slumbers; through his dream And now 't is tossing on the swells The deep sounds roll more loud and near, They fill his dream, he starts, he wakes! The moonlight through the casement falls, Ha! the wild sight that on him breaks, The floods sweep round his cabin-walls. Beneath their bounding, thundering shocks The frail log fabric groans and rocks; Crash, crash! the ice-bolts round it shiver; The walls like blast-swept branches quiver; His wife is clinging to his breast, The child within his arm is prest; He staggers through the chilly flood That numbs his limbs, and checks his blood. On, on he strives the waters lave : Higher his form with every wave; Thy boy's shrill shriekings fill thine ear; Joy, raftman, joy! thy need is past, Is resting on the upland's brow. Praise to high Heaven! each knee is bent, And every heart in prayer of grateful love is blent. Alfred Billings Street. THE DELAWARE WATER-GAP.. UR western land can boast no lovelier spot. OUR The hills which in their ancient grandeur stan Piled to the frowning clouds, the bulwarks seem Of this wild scene, resolved that none but Heaven Shall look upon its beauty. Round their breast A curtained fringe depends, of golden mist, Touched by the slanting sunbeams; while below The silent river, with majestic sweep, Pursues his shadowed way, his glassy face Unbroken, save when stoops the lone wild swan To float in pride, or dip his ruffled wing. Talk ye of solitude? It is not here. Nor silence. Low, deep murmurs are abroad. Those towering hills hold converse with the sky That smiles upon their summits; and the wind Which stirs their wooded sides whispers of life, And bears the burden sweet from leaf to leaf, Bidding the stately forest-boughs look bright, And nod to greet his coming! And the brook, The wild bird's music mingles with its chime; Ruthless hands are laid: See the ancient manse Age nor honor knows; Down the old house goes! Sevenscore years it stood: For its cross-beams square Down the old house goes! Rending board and plank, Striking deadly blows. From the gabled roof Down the old house goes! Holding still its place, There the chimney stands, |