Our Western land can boast no lovelier spot.
The hills which in their ancient grandeur stand,
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 burthen sweet from leaf to leaf,
Bidding the stately forest boughs look bright,
And nod to greet his coming!--And the brook,
That with its silvery gleam comes leaping down
From the hill-side, has, too, a tale to tell;
The wild bird's music mingles with its chime;--
And gay young flowers, that blossom in its path,
Send forth their perfume as an added gift.
The river utters, too, a solemn voice,
And tells of deeds long past, in ages gone,
When not a sound was heard along his shores,
Save the wild tread of savage feet, or shriek
Of some expiring captive,--and no bark
E'er cleft his gloomy waters. Now, his waves
Are vocal often with the hunter's song;--
Now visit, in their glad and onward course,
The abodes of happy men--gardens and fields--
And cultured plains--still bearing, as they pass,
Fertility renewed and fresh delights.
The time has been,--so Indian legends say,--
When here the mighty Delaware poured not
His ancient waters through--but turned aside
Through yonder dell, and washed those shaded vales.
Then, too, these riven cliffs were one smooth hill,
Which smiled in the warm sunbeams, and displayed
The wealth of summer on its graceful slope.
Thither the hunter chieftains oft repaired
To light their council fires,--while its dim height,
For ever veiled in mist, no mortal dared--
'Tis said--to scale; save one white-haired old man,
Who there held commune with the Indian's God,
And thence brought down to men his high commands.
Years passed away--the gifted seer had lived
Beyond life's natural term, and bent no more
His weary limbs to seek the mountain's summit.
New tribes had filled the land, of fiercer mien,
Who strove against each other. Blood and death
Filled those green shades, where all before was peace,
And the stern warrior scalped his dying captive
E'en on the precincts of that holy spot
Where the Great Spirit had been. Some few, who mourned
The unnatural slaughter, urged the aged priest
Again to seek the consecrated height,
Succour from heaven, and mercy to implore.--
They watched him from afar. He laboured slowly
High up the steep ascent--and vanished soon
Behind the folded clouds, which clustered dark
As the last hues of sunset passed away.
The night fell heavily--and soon were heard
Low tones of thunder from the mountain top,
Muttering, and echoed from the distant hills
In deep and solemn peal,--while lurid flashes
Of lightning rent anon the gathering gloom.
Then wilder and more loud, a fearful crash
Burst on the startled ear;--the earth, convulsed,
Groaned from its solid centre--forests shook
For leagues around,--and by the sudden gleam
Which flung a fitful radiance on the spot,
A sight of dread was seen. The mount was rent
From top to base--and where so late had smiled
Green boughs and blossoms--yawned a frightful chasm,
Filled with unnatural darkness.--From afar
The distant roar of waters then was heard;
They came--with gathering sweep--o'erwhelming all
That checked their headlong course;--the rich maize field,--
The low-roofed hut--its sleeping inmates--all--
Were swept in speedy, undistinguished ruin.
Morn looked upon the desolated scene
Of the Great Spirit's anger--and beheld
Strange waters passing through the cloven rocks:--
And men looked on in silence and in fear,
And far removed their dwellings from the spot,
Where now no more the hunter chased his prey,
Or the war-whoop was heard.--Thus years went on:
Each trace of desolation vanished fast;
Those bare and blackened cliffs were overspread
With fresh green foliage, and the swelling earth
Yielded her stores of flowers to deck their sides.
The river passed majestically on
Through his new channel--verdure graced his banks;--
The wild bird murmured sweetly as before
In its beloved woods,--and nought remained,--
Save the wild tales which chieftains told,--
To mark the change celestial vengeance wrought.