Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/211

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's many a beauteous region of the earth, Doth take its baptism from Castalia's fount, And henceforth, to the ears of men, become A charmed name. But in this new-found West There hath been little pomp, or ornament Bestow'd to herald Nature, where she works With glorious skill. And so, the traveller goes To muse at Thessaly, or strike his lyre Beside Geneva's lake, or raptured mount Benlomond's cliff, pouring o'er other climes The enthusiasm which his own might well inspire. Yet go not forth, Son of the patriot West, To give the ardor of thine earliest love Unto an older world, till thou hast seen June's cloudless sun o'er Wyoming go down, And from her palace-gate, the queenly moon Come slowly forth, wrapped in her silver veil, So calm, so still, not as at Ajalon To light the vengeance of the warrior's arm, But lost in admiration of a scene