Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/200

184 Have fled away like withered leaves

Before the autumn gale:

But their memory liveth on your hills,

Their baptism on your shore,

Your everlasting rivers speak

Their dialect of yore.

Old Massachusetts wears it

Within her lordly crown,

And broad Ohio bears it

Amid his young renown;

Connecticut hath wreathed it

Where her quiet foliage waves,

And bold Kentucky breathes its hoarse

Through all her ancient caves.

Wachuset hides its lingering voice

Within his rocky heart,

And Alleghany graves its tone

Throughout his lofty chart;

Monadnock on his forehead hoar

Doth seal the sacred trust,

Your mountains build their monument,

Though ye destroy their dust.