Page:Selections from the American poets (IA selectamerpoet00bryarich).pdf/116

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Lucretia Maria Davidson.
 The sun comes up! away the shadows flingFrom the broad hills; and, hurrying to the West,Sport in the sunshine till they die away.The many beauteous mountain streams leap down,Out-welling from the clouds, and sparkling lightDances along with their perennial flow.And there is beauty in yon river's path,The glad Connecticut! I know her well,By the white veil she mantles o'er her charms:At times she loiters by a ridge of hills,Sportfully hiding; then again with glee,Out-rushes from her wild-wood lurking-place,Far as the eye can bound, the ocean-waves,And hills and rivers, mountains, lakes, and woods,And all that hold the faculty entranced,Bathed in a flood of glory, float in air,And sleep in the deep quietude of joy.
 There is an awful stillness in this place,A Presence, that forbids to break the spell,Till the heart pour its agony in tears.But I must drink the vision while it lasts;For even now the curling vapours rise,Wreathing their cloudy coronals, to graceThese towering summits—bidding me away;But often shall my heart turn back again,Thou glorious eminence! and when oppress'd,And aching with the coldness of the world,Find a sweet resting-place and home with thee.

Lucretia Maria Davidson.

THE PROPHECY.[1]

 Let, me gaze a while on that marble brow,On that full dark eye, on that cheek's warm glow;
  1. ↑ Written in her sixteenth year.
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