POEMS.
THE CONNECTICUT, OR RIVER OF PINES.
O WHO would not wander where nature combines
To render so lovely that River of Pines?
Till the heart there expands with rapture, delight,
As mine on a beautiful midsummer's night:
Ah, while these communings so sweet I review,
While mystical scenes shine with splendor anew,
I'd tell of a picture that memory entwines
With the banks of yon beautiful River of Pines.
To render so lovely that River of Pines?
Till the heart there expands with rapture, delight,
As mine on a beautiful midsummer's night:
Ah, while these communings so sweet I review,
While mystical scenes shine with splendor anew,
I'd tell of a picture that memory entwines
With the banks of yon beautiful River of Pines.
The fragrance of leaf, the perfume of flower,
In soft breezes mingled, that star-lighted hour,
And came in low whispers through forest trees tall,
And distant, the murmuring, musical fall;
There, rushing and foaming, their waters below
From fountains exhaustless forever they flow;
The wild wood was mirrored, and clustering vines,
Festooning the banks of yon River of Pines.
In soft breezes mingled, that star-lighted hour,
And came in low whispers through forest trees tall,
And distant, the murmuring, musical fall;
There, rushing and foaming, their waters below
From fountains exhaustless forever they flow;
The wild wood was mirrored, and clustering vines,
Festooning the banks of yon River of Pines.
