Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/266

262

, lonely Tower, amid yon Eden-isle, Which, as a gem, fair Narragansett wears Upon her heaving breast, thou lift'st thy head, A mystery and paradox, to mock The curious throng. Say, reared the plundering hand Of the fierce buccaneer thy massy walls, A treasure-fortress for his blood-stained gold? Or wrought the beings of an earlier race To form thy circle, while in wonder gazed The painted Indian? Fancy spreads her wing Around thy time-scathed brow, and deeply tints Her fairy-scroll, while hoar Antiquity In silence frowns upon the aimless flight.

Thou wilt not show the secret of thy birth! Nor do I know why we need question thee So strictly on that point; save that the creed Of Yankee people is, that through the toil Of questioning, there cometh light, and gain Of knowledge to the mind. We see thou art