Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/285

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, Moon at Sachem's Wood! Whoe'er hath seen Thy liquid lustre through yon lofty oaks, Broad-armed and beautiful, floating serene O'er copse, and lawn, and hedge, and snowy dome, Will never lose the picture from his heart. Beyond, are sacred spires, and clustering roofs, And on the horizon's edge, yon rude, grey rocks, Like two time-tried and trusty sentinels, Which toward the orient and the setting sun Keep watch and ward. How oft beneath these shades Where now the moonbeam trembles o'er the turf, A hoary-headed and a bright eyed man Walked with a younger one, in converse sweet. Heart knit to heart. The poet and the sage, The father and the son. Slow Time had made No chasm between them, since those brighter days,