Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/287

 THE ELM-TREES. 271

When summer, in her radiant loom,

The burning solstice weaves ; And how, with firm endurance,

They brav'd an adverse sky, Like Belisarius, doom'd to meet

His country's wintry eye.

I've roam'd through varied regions,

Where stranger-streamlets run, And where the proud magnolia flaunts

Beneath a southern sun, And where the sparse and stinted pine

Puts forth its sombre form, A vassal to the arctic cloud,

And to the tyrant storm,

And where the pure, unruffled lakes

In placid wavelets roll, Or where sublime Niagara shakes

The wonder-stricken soul, I've sought the temple's sculptur'd pile,

The pencil's glorious art, Yet still those old green trees I wore

Depictur'd on my heart.

Years fled ; my native vale I sought, Where those tall elm-trees wave ;

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