THE FIELD OF GROUNDED ARMS.
SARATOGA.
trangers! your eyes are on that valley fixed
Intently, as we gaze on vacancy,
When the mind’s wings o’erspread
The spirit-world of dreams.
True, ’tis a scene of loveliness—the bright
Green dwelling of the summer’s first-born Hours,
Whose wakened leaf and bud
Are welcoming the morn.
And morn returns the welcome, sun and cloud
Smile on the green earth from their home in heaven,
Even as a mother smiles
Above her cradled boy,
And wreath their light and shade o’er plain and mountain,
O’er sleepless seas of grass, whose waves are flowers,
The river’s golden shores,
The forest of dark pines.
