Page:A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.djvu/238

232 And above, the heated air

Seems to make a river there,

The pines stand up with pride

By the Souhegan's side,

And the hemlock and the larch

With their triumphal arch

Are waving o'er its march

To the sea.

No wind stirs its waves,

But the spirits of the braves

Hov'ring o'er,

Whose antiquated graves

Its still water laves

On the shore.

With an Indian's stealthy tread,

It goes sleeping in its bed,

Without joy or grief,

Or the rustle of a leaf,

Without a ripple or a billow,

Or the sigh of a willow,

From the Lyndeboro' hills

To the Merrimack mills.

With a louder din

Did its current begin,

When melted the snow

On the far mountain's brow,

And the drops came together

In that rainy weather.

Experienced river,

Hast thou flowed forever?

Souhegan soundeth old,

But the half is not told,

What names hast thou borne

In the ages far gone,

When the Xanthus and Meander

Commenced to wander,