Volume 4 — SONGS OF THE CASCADE.

Over my pebbly bed I flow: Till foaming—now splashing, Soon leaping—then dashing Into the chasm's bowl below, Where my pearl drops glittering, Rival the driven snow. The chains of Winter I spurn! All Summer and Spring Through the grove I sing, Gladdening lily and fern, And the tired bird who kisses my cheek With a dainty touch of his thirsty beak. And when from the mountain side The sunshines of May Charm the snows away— The torrent's impulsive tide Mingles its turbid strength with mine, Marking the thicket with surging line. Then as the grove I enter, The tree-tops shake, The granite beds quake, Into their very centre; Whilst the birds around on the soaking ground Hush their song at my thunder sound! Man never with puny arm My power shall curb, My flow disturb! Ha! ha! for nature's charm: Powerful in the rock That human strength doth mock! Long as stern Father Time Shall harvest future years— Garnering joys and tears— In every land and clime: So long shall I from the moss-clad steep, Bubble or vaunt in the foaming leap!

Under the dams I go, With sullen plash, And humbled dash, On giant wheels below, That proudly turn where huge fires burn, Mocking the sunset glow! As the "feeders" I enter, High windows shake, And brick walls quake, Deep to their very centre, While I painfully sob to the taunting throb In the heart of my mill tormentor. Afar up the arid hill, Huger wheels are turning— Fiercer fires are burning— The mountain torrent is still! And I mourn me now for the thicket's green In the grove where our surging line was see. Man with his stalwart arms, Plying the axe and spade— Reft the grove of its shade, Dissolving nature's charms; With genius to plan it blasted the granite, As involving the earthquake's aid. Nothing of freedom now I know! For the glare of the brick, The machinery click, And the mist from the wheels below, Blindeth and stunneth—I faint—I reel. I yield my charm to the spell of steel!