Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/298

294 A rugged path 't was thine to tread, Disputing with the rocks thy bed, And inch by inch, with deafening din, Thy troubled course to steer, Still through adversity severe Thy fame to win.

No cloud upon the summer air! The forest-boughs are green and fair, And joyous beings tread The slippery margin of thy tide, That on, from plunge to plunge, doth glide So beautiful and dread. Hark! to a cry of wild despair. Echoing from yon guarded dell, While the imprisoned flood doth to fierceness swell.

Where is that lovely one, Of fawn-like step, and cherub air, And blooming brow, unmarked by care? Troubled Torrent, tell me where! She marked thee with admiring eye, Thy verdant marge, thy craggy steep, Thy boiling eddies, bold and deep. Thy white mist, curtaining to the sky; Where is she now? with sorrow wild, I hear the parents' voice, lamenting for their child.