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 To truth's eternal quest.—How poor and vain, To such high bounty, seems a meaner kind;— But this in after times;—for forests then Mantled the height and swarmed with savage men.

XXXVI.

Thence, in the vale below, our Founder sees Where dark Mooshausick rolls, and seaward casts, Its waters,—rolling under lofty trees With crossing branches, thick as e'er the masts That shall, thereafter, on the wanton breeze Display their banners, when, in sounding blasts, The cannon utters its triumphant voice, And bids the land through all its States rejoice.

XXXVII.

And thence, with prescient eye, he gazes far O'er the rude sites of palaces and shrines, Where Grecian beauty to the buxom air Shall rise resplendent in its shapely lines; Ay, almost hears the future pavements jar Beneath a people's wealth, and half divines From thee, Soul-Liberty! what glories wait Thy earliest altars—thy predestined State.

XXXVIII.

Then down the steep, by paths scored in its side, Where frequent deer had sought the floods below, He past, still following his dusky guide And stooping often under drooping bough, To a broad cultured field, expanding wide Betwixt dense thickets and Mooshausick's flow. Its deep green rows of waving maize foretold Abundant harvest from a fertile mould.