Beyond, the smooth and mirror’d sheet
    So gently steals along,
  The very ripples, murmuring sweet,
    Scarce drown the wild bee’s song;
  The violet from the grassy side
  Dips its blue chalice in the tide;
  And, gliding o’er the leafy brink,
  The deer, unfrightened, stoops to drink.

  Myriads of man’s time-measured race
    Have vanished from the earth,
  Nor left a memory of their trace,
    Since first this scene had birth;
  These waters, thundering now along,
  Joined in Creation’s matin-song;
  And only by their dial-trees
  Have known the lapse of centuries!

* * * * *

=_Laura M.H.  Thurston, 1812-1842._= (Manual, P. 524.)

=_387._= LINES ON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANIES.

  I hail thee, Valley of the West,
    For what thou yet shalt be! 
  I hail thee for the hopes that rest
    Upon thy destiny! 
  Here from this mountain height, I see
  Thy bright waves floating rapidly,
    Thine emerald fields outspread;
  And feel that in the book of fame,
  Proudly shall thy recorded name
    In later days be read.

  Oh! brightly, brightly glow thy skies
    In Summer’s sunny hours! 
  The green earth seems a paradise
    Arrayed in summer flowers! 
  But oh! there is a land afar,
  Whose skies to me all brighter are,
    Along the Atlantic shore! 
  For eyes beneath their radiant shrine
  In kindlier glances answered mine: 
    Can these their light restore?

  Upon the lofty bound I stand,
    That parts the East and West;
  Before me lies a fairy land;
    Behind—­a home of rest!
  Here, Hope her wild enchantment flings,
  Portrays all bright and lovely things,
    My footsteps to allure—­
  But there, in memory’s light I see
  All that was once most dear to me—­
    My young heart’s cynosure!

* * * * *

=_Francis S. Osgood, 1812-1850_= (Manual, p. 523.)

=_388._= “The Parting.”

I looked not, I sighed not, I dared not betray The wild storm of feeling that strove to have way, For I knew that each sign of the sorrow I felt Her soul to fresh pity and passion would melt, And calm was my voice, and averted my eyes, As I parted from all that in being I prize.

  I pined but one moment that form to enfold. 
  Yet the hand that touched hers, like the marble was cold,—­
  I heard her voice falter a timid farewell,
  Nor trembled, though soft on my spirit it fell,
  And she knew not, she dreamed not, the anguish of soul
  Which only my pity for her could control.

  It is over—­the loveliest dream of delight
  That ever illumined a wanderer’s night! 
  Yet one gleam of comfort will brighten my way,
  Though mournful and desolate ever I stray: 
  It is this—­that to her, to my idol, I spared
  The pang that her love could have softened and shared!