Far in the West, where snow-capt mountains rise,
Like marble shafts beneath Heaven's stooping dome,
And sunset's dreamy curtain drapes the skies,
As if enchantment there would build her home--
O'er wood and wave, from haunts of men away--
From out the glen, all trembling like a child,
A babbling streamlet comes as if to play--
Albeit the scene is savage, lone and wild.
Here at the mountain's foot, that infant wave
'Mid bowering leaves doth hide its rustic birth--
Here learns the rock and precipice to brave--
And go the Monarch River of the Earth!
Far, far from hence, its bosom deep and wide,
Bears the proud steamer on its fiery wing--
Along its banks, bright cities rise in pride,
And o'er its breast their gorgeous image fling.
The Mississippi needs no herald now--
But here within this glen unknown to fame,
It flows content--a bubble on its brow,
A leaf upon its breast--without a name!
[Illustration: Banks of the Mississippi]