- It flows through endless woods, in channel deep,
- Whose banks precipitously tower sublime;
- Till, gliding on, it widens in s, southern clime,
- And rolls a sea, which no rude barriers keep.
- Father of waters! on thy waves of old
- The red man, merrily, in his canoe,
- Oft sailed along. Aud nigh thy waters blue,
- Monsters of wilderness their might unfold,
- As through the incense-loaded fields they stray,
- Or rest beneath the solitary shade,
- Which wildwoods' amphitheatre had made,
- Yet on, still on, thy billows sweep alway,
- Past cities, or through shades and forests brown –
- Scenes, now, of white men's glory and renown.
|
