Shall bring their treasures to his plenteous board. 
Soon too, the hum of busy man shall wake
Th’ adjacent shores.  The baited hook, the net,
Drawn skilful round the wat’ry cove, shall bring
Their prize delicious to the rural feast. 
  Here blooms the laurel on the rugged breaks,
Umbrageous, verdant, through the circling year
His bushy mantle scorning winds or snows—­
While there—­two ample streams confluent grace—­
Complete the picture—­animate the whole! 
Broad o’er the plain the Susquehanna rolls,
His rapid waves far sounding as he comes. 
Through many a distant clime and verdant vale,
A thousand springy caverns yield their rills,
Augmenting still his force.  The torrent grows,
Spreads deep and wide, till braving all restraint
Ev’n mountain ridges feel the imperious press;
Forced from their ancient rock-bound base—­they leave
Their monumental sides, erect, to guard
The pass—­and tell to future days, and years,
The wond’rous tale!  Meanwhile,
The conqueror flood holds on his course,
Resistless ever—­sinuous, or direct. 
Unconscious tribes beneath his surface play,
Nor heed the laden barques, his surface bear;
Now gliding swiftly by the threat’ning rocks,
Now swimming smoothly to the distant bay. 
To meet and bring his liberal tribute too,
The modest Octoraro winds his way—­
Not ostentatious like a boasting world
Their little charities proclaiming loud—­
But silent through the glade retir’d and wild,
Between the shaded banks on either hand,
Till circling yonder meed—­he yields his name. 
Nor proudly, Susquehanna! boast thy gain,
For thence, not far, thou too, like him shall give
Thy congregated waters, title—­all,
To swell the nobler name of Chesapeake! 
  And is not such a scene as this the spell,
That lulls the restless passions into peace? 
Yes.  Cold must be the sordid heart, unmov’d
By Nature’s bounties:  but they cannot fill,
That ardent craving in the mind of man,
For social intercourse,—­the healthful play—­
The moral gem—­the light of intellect—­
Communion sweet with those we love!

WITH A ROSE IN JANUARY.

Will you accept this bud my dear,
Fit emblem of the coming year: 
The bud expands, the flower blooms,
And gives awhile its rich perfumes: 
Its strength decays, its leaf descends,
Its sweets are gone—­its beauty ends,
Such is the year.—­The morning brings
The bud of pleasure in its wings: 
Hope, health, and fortune, smile their day,
And charm each threat’ning cloud away: 
But gathering ills increase their force,
And though concealed—­make sure their course. 
They come—­they press—­they stand confest,
And disappointment tells the rest.

LIFE.

SUGGESTED BY A SUMMER EVENING.