« 上一頁繼續 »
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, Or buffalo remote low'd far from human home.
ΙΙΙ. But silent not that adverse eastern path, Which saw Aurora's hills th' horizon crown; There was the river heard, in bed of wrath, (A precipice of foam from mountains brown) Like tumults heard from some far distant town; But softening in approach he left his gloom, And murmurd pleasantly, and laid him down To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom, That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume.
It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had
Nor guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home,
And fields that were a luxury to roam,
The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth,
" And yet, loved England! when thy name I trace In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song, How can I choose but wish for one embrace Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong My mother's looks, -- perhaps her likeness strong ? Oh, parent! with what reverential awe, From features of thine own related throng, - An image of thy face my soul could draw! And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw!"
Yet deem not Gertrude sigh'd for foreign joy;
IX. Apart there was a deep untrodden grot, Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore; Tradition had not named its lonely spot ; But here (methinks) might India's sons explore Their father's dust,* or lift perchance of yore, Their voice to the great Spirit: -- rocks sublime To human art a sportive semblance bore, And yellow lichens colour'd all the clime, Like moonlight battlements, and towers decay'd
But high in amphitheatre above,
* It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs of their ancestors in the cultivated parts of America, who have been buried for upwards of a century.