Page:Poems Rice.djvu/33

While pensive we roamed o'er that dew-spangled sod
In the twilight, it seemed the twilight of God;
Imbued with a spirit of reverence, bliss,
No pleasure, no joy can be likened to this,
When the heart its holiest emotions resigns
To pictures beheld on this River of Pines.

And there is a season of loveliness, bliss,
Outvying the beauty, the splendor of this;
When autumn transforms these midsummer views
With its magical tints, its radiant hues;
Go, sit by those banks, and compose, or compare
The spiritual charms of this river so fair;
Why should I profane, with my imperfect lines,
The wonders unrolled by this River of Pines.

Unfolding, e'en now, like a vision, a dream,
The shadows take shape, then realities seem;
Were a sunbeam my pen, as melting its light,
They'd vanish no faster, these views, while I write;
A prophetical link, perchance, in the chain,
The beautiful soul may roam here again,
And this but a glimpse which the Bible defines
Of regions surpassing the River of Pines.

Fair River of Pines, with thy mountains and plains,
How rich are thy valleys, all golden with grains,
And thy herb-scented groves, so vast and so dim!
Thy solitudes teem with the greatness of Him:
The cataract's fall, and its thundering roar,
Will greet the lone Indian's ear nevermore;