Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/146

142 And hollow murmur from thy troubled depths; As fettered Samson, with his shaven locks Crumbled the temple columns and o'erthrew Philistia's mocking lords. Block after block Of thick-ribb'd ice, disparted, and the shores Piled high with rugged masses, told how strong Thy struggle with the tyrant. Still in pain. And wearily, thou wrought'st thy toilsome way, Like one who hath a heavy work to do, Ere he may take his rest. I scarce can think Thou art the same, that now at liberty And in the fulness of thy wealth dost mark Thy course with benefactions. As we press Upward, thy current, with its azure tint, Mottled by silver clouds, and fringed with green, In ripples, and in shadows multiform Flows on in beauty. Now and then a raft Of timber strongly bound, the sturdy growth, Of our far northern hills, comes drifting down, Shaping its lonely voyage; or the boat That scorneth sail and oar, with flying wheel Furroweth thy startled flood. The bending trees Adjust their branches, by thy mirrored tide, As won our Mother from the crystal eye Of Eden's lake, the knowledge of her charms.