II.

Yet wanted not the eye

far

scope to muse,

Nor vistas open'd by the wand'ring stream;

Both where at evening Allegany views,

Through ridges burning in her western beam,
Lake after lake interminably gleam :

And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam
Where earth's unliving silence all would seem;
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome,
Or buffalo remote low'd far from human home.

III.

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 soft'ning in approach he left his gloom,
And murmur'd pleasantly, and laid him down
To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom,
That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume.

IV.

It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had
On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own
Inspir'd those eyes affectionate and glad,

That seem'd to love whate'er they look'd upon;
Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone,
Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast,
(As if for heav'nly musing meant alone ;)

Yet so becomingly th' expression past,

That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last.

V.

Nor guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home,
With all its picturesque and balmy grace,
And fields that were a luxury to roam,

Lost on the soul that look'd from such a face!
Enthusiast of the woods! when years apace

Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's zone,
The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace
To hills with high magnolia overgrown,

And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone.

VI.

The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth,
That thus apostrophiz'd its viewless scene:

'Land of my father's love, my mother's birth!
The home of kindred I have never seen!
'We know not other-oceans are between :
'Yet say! far friendly hearts from whence we cam
'Of us does oft remembrance intervene !

My mother sure-my sire a thought may claim; • But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name.

VII.

And yet, lov'd 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!'

VIII.

Yet deem not Gertrude sigh'd for foreign joy;
To sooth a father's couch her only care,

And keep his rev'rend head from all annoy:
For this, methinks, her homeward steps repair,
Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair;
While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew,
While boatmen carol'd to the fresh-blown air,
And woods a horizontal shadow threw,

And early fox appear'd in momentary view.

IX.

Apart there was a deep untrodden grot,`

Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore ;
Tradition had not nam'd its lonely spot;

But here (methinks) might India's sons explore
Their fathers' dust, 10 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 by

[time.

10 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.